Introduction to "The History of Conflict"

author’s note:

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing
there is a field. I’ll met your there.
         -- Rumi (trans. Barks/Moyne)

INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF CONFLICT


For this book, we interviewed
both a dog and a cat at length.

But we spoke to each separately
to avoid arguments between the two:
we didn’t want to add yet another tragedy
to a tome filled with tragedies.

However
the publisher asked
that the dog and cat
be photographed together
for purposes of promotion.

We feared the worst.
But instead the moment revealed the best:

as dog faced cat and cat faced dog
each saw the sadness in the other’s eyes--
saw how the other also felt
a burden of pain made heavy by
centuries--centuries--
of dog and cat fights.

Whenever I feel the need
to bolster my hope for the future
I recall that scene
of shared grief.

mythsteps · Introduction to the History of Conflict

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Poem for a Mirror

author’s note:

Opening the eyes is a lifetime job.


POEM FOR A MIRROR

Looking back
I can see how I’ve repeated
the sorry history of the human race:
I can see

how I have been a slave to fear.

As have you.
But

I can see how you struggle
to untangle those chains.

Though you often seem stuck
you never lose your ferocity--
you obey your higher will.

Sometimes I see
how you mirror me
and then I realize
my own strength:

we want to do more
than merely survive.

At such times, I may also see
how our true desire
mirrors the true desire
of the whole human race

and then I feel hope
for our flawed species.

Common Courage: poetry ebook
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Making Peace Between My Plates

author’s note:

What can I do in a world of war?

I can work to create peace between my own warring factions.


MAKING PEACE BETWEEN MY PLATES

Seeing the need
to know myself better
I tuned-in to my depths

and ever so slowly began to feel
my deep tectonic plates--
how those forces bulled and butted
and ground together
in continual conflict.

Yes, feeling my disturbance disturbs me
but being aware has helped me
find better ways
to ease my inner tensions.

So these days
I usually manage to avoid
major quakes.

However

I still experience so many tremors.

Those shakes shake me up

but as a result
when I settle back down, I become
even more determined
in this heroic task:
to create harmony
among my opposing plates.

Yes, the peace I achieve will be relative

but perhaps that’s the best we can expect
from a member of such a flawed species.

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Winter Sun

author’s note:

An appropriate poem, I believe, as we prepare to leap into Spring.


WINTER SUN

Winter’s a good time for this grief

because the sting
of the merciless wind
can shock me out of a stupor
induced by this drag of emotion

and then, as I open out
I will see the sun
on the bare tree limbs
and look up
at endless blue heaven.
I don’t feel dead when I enter
such a glorious world.

And as I watch the intense gentle snowfall
of a gray day
I’m lulled into the subtler senses
and again know the soft nurturing fire
steady in my heart.

The long nights around Solstice
urged me to go deep.
And though I dreaded the work. I delved down
because I’ve learned
I can find light in the dark.

Yet despite these blessings
yesterday, I began to worry
this season would never end.
But today
as I walked through that sleeping forest,
the cold drops falling from the trees
awoke my dream
of a new life blossoming in Spring.

mythsteps · Winter Sun

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When I Return

author’s note:

What can I do at a time when so many are grieving?

I can post this poem about grieving.


WHEN I RETURN

Seeking solace
I return to this hillside--

return to
those small blue wildflowers...
the gray stones...
the flowing grasses...
that know me so well:

these friends feel my grief--
they empathize.

Secure in their care
I lay myself down in the sun
and allow my tears to rise.

Release : relief.
Those waters spend their surplus
then sink back down
into a hidden reservoir:

a reservoir I usually ignore
to keep from being overwhelmed
while I do my daily chores.

But eventually
those neglected waters
will again rise up in rebellion

then I’ll return once again
to this green hill

to my friends--
the flowers, stones,
the flowing grasses.

And when I lay myself down
those waters will rise as before--
once more
the release will lift me
towards the sun.

I rise a little higher
a little higher
each time I return.

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Last Image

author's note:

Where is the ordinary man, the ordinary woman I’ve heard people speak of?

I’ve never met such a person.


LAST IMAGE

In the dream
I walked with her
though she ascended a hill many miles
away from mine:

I saw her as a distant silhouette.

But then, as she reached the summit
a beam from the golden sunset
lit her small frame:
she became a candle flame--
flaring up
then sinking down, the next instant.
The scene, suddenly dark.

In the morning
someone I sort of know
told me she had died.

Now when I think of her
I remember that last image

and so
I no longer see her life
in shades of gray and beige.

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A Prayer after Death

author's note:

I want to die with my boots on.

But I’m not buying any boots right now.


A PRAYER AFTER DEATH

I didn’t believe any prayer of mine
would help him
in his last hours
of suffering.

But I could give him
my empathy:
I could sit by his bed
and try to gain some sense
of his innner struggle.

So I matched my breath
to his ragged breath
and winced
whenever his eyelids crinkled in pain.

Nonetheless
he still seemed so distant.

To entertain my impatience
I counted time as his blind hand
ticked against the bedsheet

In that way, I fell into a timeless trance

until with a startle
I felt my heart clunk clumsily
once...twice

then my chest slumped
with a release of tension
and as I sighed, I saw him
collapse inside
with a silent heave of exhaustion.

Suddenly a subtle brightness seemed
to intensify the room--
or maybe I just imagined
the faint glittery mist
that hovered for a moment, midair
then vanished with a quick fade.

I can only say for certain what I felt:
the reality seemed so unreal.  Elevated.

But in the next moment
I nearly laughed:
a process so crushingly tedious
had ended with nothing more
than a quick simple breath.

I felt relieved

but only for a minute

then the grieving began.

Yet even as the sadness rose
I felt the impulse to compose a prayer--
I wanted to give humble thanks
to whatever force might have placed
that blessed event in my path.

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