Meditating Upon a Centipede

author's note:

I dedicate this poem to those who wanted the Carlos Castaneda books to be true.

I dedicate this poem to myself.


MEDITATING UPON A CENTIPEDE

Influenced by that author
who told us how he’d seen the unseen
I decided to go into the forest alone
to try to pierce the veil of ordinary reality—

maybe if I believed strongly enough
and razored my intent
I’d see that spirit world for myself.

Call me a fool if you wish
but I desperately wanted
to experience wonder again—
to rescue myself
from a mire of dullness.

So I walked deep into the woods
then stopped and stood and stared
into the dense shadows
using extreme focus—
as described in the book.

I would remain in such intensity
until my power vision revealed
the truth of what exists all around us.

For many minutes
I squinted with determination.
I refused to quit—to fail.

But then my eyeballs began to ache
with frustration.

So finally I surrendered
and sat in a slump on a stump.

But then with my head hanging down
I noticed a stirring
in the dead leaves on the ground—
honing in, I saw
a centipede ambling
through a rich wasteland.
Its white hide almost luminous.

Such vigor
in its relentless investigation.
Such harmony
in that party of dancing legs.

Amazed
I held my focus without effort—
without strain

as that sensitive creature
stepped and stepped and stepped and stepped and stepped

and stepped

until it stepped into
a small dark doorway
at the base of the stump.

I then realized
I’d entered an elevated state—
maybe I could see the spirit world now.

But no—
the surge of desire
caused the bubble to pop—
in an instant I returned
to my usual state of mind.

But no, not quite—
I walked away alive to that forest world—
awake after witnessing
the spirit of an incredible creation.

Centipede—centipede—centipede
I say:
thank you—thank you—thank you.

mythsteps · Meditating Upon a Centipede

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