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.

Listening to Silence: poetry book
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Headlight on the Hilltop

author's note:

I’m living in outer space.  But so is everyone else.


HEADLIGHT ON THE HILLTOP

Yeah—
what I saw was probably
just a car headlight
switching from low to bright
up there atop the hill.

Nonetheless
the sight thrilled my heart
and hypnotized my eyes.

So when the light blinked off
a minute or so later
I searched the heavens
hoping it might reappear.

But no—
all I saw was a litter of stars.

But so many—
more than I could possibly take in.

Once again
I realized my little mind
could never ever even begin to comprehend
this grand production
called
“The Universe”.

Once again I thought:
I’m but a wee bit of stardust
in an endless ocean of wonder.

Yeah, probably just a headlight
switching from low to bright.

But a blessed event, nonetheless
because I used that flash
to remind myself:

We’re just a miniscule drop in the cosmos.

But that means:

we’re part of something magnificently mysterious.

And that means:

like all the other pieces
you and I are beautiful secrets.

mythsteps · Headlight on the Hilltop

Myth Steps: poetry book
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

How I Learned to Surf

author’s note:

I believe without question: there's a part of me that knows exactly what I need to do.


HOW I LEARNED TO SURF

Years ago
I felt my legs trembling
and could not see the cause

so I decided to close down
and sat myself down
on a flat desert stone.

But in stillness
I started to feel
mysterious energies
working within me:

an emotional ocean heaved and crashed
in waves of constant conflict.

I tried
but could not tame that storm.
I wanted to run
but felt too weak to stand.

Fortunately I remembered
a claim made by the ancients:

way down below can be found
the foundation stone of our being.

Desperate for security
I then dove
into those unruly waters—

in search of the stone
I fought my way down

and down

until I felt a calm powerful presence—

its big ocean bell
sounded out this message:

open...
open up…
open more!

From experience I knew:
inner guidance must be obeyed
even when the action seems hazardous.

So I opened my toes
my hands
my chest
my stomach
my groin

then opened my eyes
to find myself
standing on that flat stone—
my feet planted apart
and my arms spread wide
for balance, for balance
as I surfed
over waves of soil and sand.

A victory, yes
but I must admit
now, years later
I still tremble with tension.
But when a little becomes too much
I refuse to shut down—
no, I open more
and go with the motion.

In that way
I manage to stand strong
and ride the waves
of this incredible ocean storm.

mythsteps · How I Learned to Surf

Listening to Silence: poetry book
dream steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Child in a Box

author’s note:

I can see myself everywhere.  If I’m willing to look.


CHILD IN A BOX

While finding my way in an unknown town
I spied a child
sitting in a big cardboard box
in the back of an abandoned lot.

I wanted to pity him—

his scratch of land seemed so desolate:

Cold sun rays glinted hard
off broken bottles.
A ragged wind stuck paper scraps
on the barbs of a barb-wire fence.

But despite that scene
the child wouldn't stop laughing.

At what? Perhaps he enjoyed watching
those two crows pick at a scatter of fries.

But when he spotted me, he continued to laugh.

What?  Was I such a joke?
Couldn’t he see how I grieved his plight?
How could I empathize
with him cackling in the wind that way?

With that last question
I suddenly realized
I held this secret wish:

I wanted to see a sad sight
so I could release my sad sighs.
I felt sorry for him, yes
but I also felt sorry for myself.

I was a child abandoned in an empty lot.

But that barbed broken-bottle lot
really wasn’t so empty, was it?
And who had abandoned my child
if not me?

I then began to laugh along with that child—

at the fool who would not let himself play
in this wild sunny world of abundance.

mythsteps · Child In A Box

Get the Message: a short guide for understanding dreams
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton