You Never Know What You'll Find

author’s note:

Happy Halloween!


YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’LL FIND

When a stranger
takes one quick scan
and believes he knows
who I am...

I feel the impulse
to shock him awake
by pulling something up
from my dark depths
--but stop

not only because I fear
how he might react
but because I realize
I might also scare myself.

I’ve delved and dredged
for many years
yet continue to be surprised
by the spirits I discover inside.

mythsteps · You Never Know What You'll Find

Soultime: a novel
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

The Fable of the Woman who Rises and Falls and Rises

author’s note:

Dedicated with fond appreciation to Aesop (c. 620-564 BCE).


THE FABLE OF THE WOMAN WHO RISES AND FALLS AND RISES

For a long while
she’d walked and fought this desert
and in doing so, felt proud
because she’d proved
she was tough enough
to endure the sun and dust and wind
and keep marching.

But here’s what
that motivational book doesn’t tell you:
we all live with limitations.
In her head she told herself she was winning
but the fatigue in her heart said
you are definitely losing.

However old beliefs
don’t die that easily
--she marched on.

But even camels must bow down
occasionally--
eventually
she lost her argument with gravity
and fell to her knees.

But then she won again--won
because down in the rock and sand
she admitted defeat.
Not a popular word: “humility”--
we keep trying to forget that truth
even as the wise ones
keep trying to remind us.

In that state, she grieved
for her poor weak foolish self
until she finally tired of grieving

then
as she folded back out
she realized how fertile
a barren land could be
when you allow yourself
the honesty of feeling.

But in short time
that old urge rose again--
she felt the need to march on.

But as she stood she told herself:
this time I must remember
what I keep forgetting:
I need to lower myself down
now and then--
’cause if I don’t
I’m doomed to fall.

33 1/3 New Fables & Myth
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Therapists in the Natural World

author's note:

The extraordinary patience of things!
            -- Robinson Jeffers


THERAPISTS IN THE NATURAL WORLD

I often return to this path in solitude
but I never feel alone--
I know I’m being watched.

See that monolithic boulder over there?--
see how it stares?

And this old dark oak tree
has all its eyes on me.

I sense they know my secrets.

Maybe I’m imagining
but wise ones have often noted
the intelligence of mountains
and rivers and stones.

How did those beings get so smart?

I believe:
in past lives they lived
as humans.
And through lessons learned
managed to elevate their souls.

That’s why this little stream
can understand my pain.
I find its empathy comforting.
Like the others
it listens without judging.

That’s not to say these friends
always agree with me--
they know when
I’m not being honest
with myself.

Nonetheless not one ever protests:
they know if they wait patiently
I’ll eventually lead myself around
to the truth I’ve avoided--
the soul truth.

This flowing green field
welcomes me down
to a bed of wild grass
so I can find my strength.

finding Beauty: poetry book
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Shopping in the Labyrinth

author’s note:

"Time is money."
        -- Anonymous


SHOPPING IN THE LABYRINTH

According to a recurrent dream
I'm traveling through a labyrinth

but unlike those described
in myths and legends
this passageway leads me
through the halls
of an average shopping mall

with countless bright stores
offering every sort of thing
except what I seek.

Not that I know
what that is--I only know
I haven't found it yet.

But I don't feel defeated--
I'm still eager to explore--to see
what waits next door down.

Maybe these dreams show how
I’m gathering information.
Even when I don’t buy what I see
I can find another piece of the puzzle
just by stopping to look

and if I collect enough pieces
I may be able to fill in the spaces--
I may see “the big picture”:
the grand design of this life.

A woman I met on a bus
told me she also shops
in her dreams...maybe
everyone does--maybe
we’re all trying to discover
the beautiful design in
what appears to be chaos.

In any case
this much is obvious:
we were made to shop.

The Truth of the Dream: poetry book
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Gold Dust

author's note:

The world of dew
is a world of dew, and yet
and yet…
       -- Issa (Keene, trans.)

GOLD DUST

Today, I lost so much

for example:

I didn’t stop and allow
my fingertips to explore
the silver frost sparkling
on that mossy stone.

I felt driven to keep moving

and as a result
mostly missed the mysterious
multi-layered voice of the long grass
carried on the wind.

Fortunately
once along the way
the dog in me stopped me still
so I could see that wren perched vertically
on a tall weed stem--

so I could witness
the incredible tenacity
of its small taunt claws.

But after a few seconds
I thought of that nature film
I saw the other evening

and when I looked again
the gold bird had vanished.

Then in the next moment
my body—my spirit
again demanded
the feeling of freedom
movement creates.

So invigorating!
Nonetheless
I need to find a higher drive
that’ll slow my pace
and hold me in one place--
I lost so much today.

And yet
at home tonight
I feel giddy with saturation--fuzzily drunk
on nature’s invisible ambrosia.
I’m a flooded Nile.

Even when I daydream
I take in treasure.

But I realize
I’ll feel even richer
if I become more aware--
if I see what I see
hear what I hear
smell what I smell
and feel what I feel when
I’m right there.

I believe
after we die
we realize the abundance
we unknowingly accumulated
during our human existence.

But why wait?--
I want heaven here on earth.

finding Beauty: poetry book
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

How Aunt Maggie Got So Bright

author’s note:

I don’t claim to be bright.  But I’m not as dim as I once was.


HOW AUNT MAGGIE GOT SO BRIGHT

I have a theory about why
Aunt Maggie wasn’t wearing her usual frown
when you saw her late last night:

I believe
a period of forced reflection
follows death
and in life, when I stop to reflect
I often find my truth--
like the time I asked myself
this question:

Why I do I groan, why do I grumble
over a little cookie that crumbled?
After all, by now I know
every day, some cookie will surely crumble.

Then
after waiting silently...patiently
for an answer
I begin to feel what I truly felt
deep within
and realized my whining
merely echoed the cry
of an old buried wound

then wept with empathy
for the person I am.

So now, when hear someone grousing
over some small thing
I know
the true depth of their suffering.

In such voices I hear Aunt Maggie--

who I believe does indeed “rest in peace”
because in death
she had to stop to reflect
and feel what she really felt
in the life just lived

and so, she’s finally grieved the grief
hidden beneath her many grievances.

Aware of her own pain now
she’s become aware of yours--
that’s why she gazes down at you
with such bright tenderness
amid the deep darkness
of your bedroom.

mythsteps · How Aunt Maggie Got So Bright

Butterfly Soul: poetry book
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Too Weak for Heaven

author’s note:

“Language--the ultimate high.”
        -- from the TV series Lodge 49

No, not the ultimate.  But pretty darn good.


TOO WEAK FOR HEAVEN

Some say
in Heaven you can smoke
as many cigarettes as you wish
without any harmful side effects

but why would we crave tobacco

or any other pleasure?--
this ice cream, though velvety
could never match Heaven's relentless love.

No one would hanker for a drug
when filled with the ecstasy
of Heaven above.

But maybe in short time
such perfection overwhelms us--
the flood of light
becomes much too much

and so in desperation, we jump
back down to Earth.

And when we land
we block Heaven from memory
to escape the pain of the loss.

Nonetheless
we sense we’ve fallen off
and so, search for activities
that give us a little lift:

yes, we’ve created
a myriad of substitutes
and not just bad stuff--
much of what we’ve found
is actually quite good for us--
for instance
rising in harmony with an angelic choir
or
finding our way
through the labyrinth of a cave.

Or maybe we sit down
on a mountaintop
hoping to satisfy
that muffled but incessant desire
deep within

and maybe if I wait long enough
I find a light that feeds my hunger.

But soon, I must climb back down
to tend to the demands of this human life.

However...to be honest
sometimes I jump down
because I feel overwhelmed
by the small bit of heaven I’ve found--
even the light available on Earth
can seem too much to bear.

Will I ever be strong enough
to give myself up?
To surrender?

I doubt I will
but I’m still going to work
to find that courage--

as long as I know
I’m pursuing a higher goal
I can smile as I mop
this dingy kitchen floor.

mythsteps · Too Weak for Heaven

Listening to Silence: poetry ebook
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton