Elevating the Mole

author’s note:

“I can dig it, he can dig it, she can dig it,
  we can dig it, they can dig it, you can dig it.
  Oh, let’s dig it. Can you dig it, baby?”
      -- from “Grazing in the Grass”, by The Friends of Distinction


ELEVATING THE MOLE

I’m here, in part, to gather information
for a big knowledge bank—
the same metaphysical storehouse all humans use
when they need to deposit what they’ve gleaned.

Though I can’t imagine the ultimate purpose
I still like that idea
because I want to believe
I’m doing more here than just surviving.

But recently I’ve begun to wonder
about another life—
the life of the mole.
like me, he’s constantly gathering.

Yes, his eyes are small
but just think of all the information
he takes in with his tiny pink paws as he digs and crawls.
Information about soil, roots, grubs.
Information about life on this planet.

Because he wants to know more
he keeps on tunneling
and as he learns, he wonders:
Just how much more to this world can there be?
And so he will dig to the end.

Sounds like a great way to live
but I hate to imagine all that knowledge lost
when the body ceases to breathe.

Does the mole exist merely to exist?
Maybe we both contribute
to that big knowledge bank.

Scoff at that idea if you wish
but such thoughts
send my mind staring out the window
and when my eyes go out the window
I sense the truth
of what I like to believe:
All life has a higher purpose.

No, I can’t honestly say what that purpose is.
But I really like the storehouse concept—
I’m glad I’m saving that belief for posterity.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

The Magic of Imagination

author’s note:

Written after watching the 2019 documentary The Seer and The Unseen.


THE MAGIC OF IMAGINATION

One long-time resident
can actually see the legendary elves
who inhabit our island.

This woman especially enjoys
a quaint village she recently found
in a shadowy stand of oak
between two little knolls.

Yes, I believe her stories
because I can see the shine in her eyes
when she tells how she frolics with them
in a secret forest clearing.
They like to play fifes
and ring tiny tinny bells
as they skip about
in red shoes that curl at the tip of the toe.

I want to see as she sees.
Yes, I find beauty all over the forest
nonetheless
I’d still like to see an elf do its dance.

But until I’m able to defog my eyes
I’ll try to satisfy my wish
vicariously
by imagining her loving descriptions as fact.
No, I haven’t quite eliminated doubt yet, but
the response in my heart says:
if you can feel the magic, the magic must be real.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Two Nervous People Comfort Each Other

author’s note:

I was trying to come up with something for Valentine’s Day.


TWO NERVOUS PEOPLE COMFORT EACH OTHER

As gray clouds gather
we find ourselves without shelter
in a bare open field.

And so, desperate for comfort
I embrace you and you embrace me.

And as we hold each other I discover
you tremble just as I tremble.

So I try to ease you down
with calming words—
the same words you use
as you try to calm me.

But
my words can’t convince you
and your words can’t convince me
not to worry about our safety.

And so, we continue to tremble.

But at least now
we don’t shake quite as much.

Ironic, I guess:
despite our nervousness
we’re still able to comfort each other a bit.

No, we can’t convince our bodies
not to fear for their survival
as we stand beneath this threatening sky.

But as I hold your body next to mine
I can feel your spirit
just as you can feel my spirit
as you hold my body next to yours.

And so in this moment
we both realize:
even if our bodies fall
you and I, we will survive.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Raindrops are Pearls

author’s note:

I keep trying to improve my vision.


RAINDROPS ARE PEARLS

When I look at those raindrops
hanging from that branch
I see pearls

because

raindrops seem of little consequence—
here for a moment then gone.

Whereas pearls seem to shine
with a timeless intrinsic value.

I say:
though we enter and live in this world
as raindrops
we never stop being pearls.

Scoff if you want, but
wouldn’t you prefer I see you as a pearl?

I say:
our raindrop life be better
if we always saw each other as pearls.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2026, Michael R. Patton

The Deep Thrill of Mystery

author’s note:

To all my fellow specks.


THE DEEP THRILL OF MYSTERY

Sometimes as a child
I’d stop
all my buzzing about

and in the sudden quiet
I would sense mystery.

No matter where I was.
Even standing in a shiny white appliance store
I’d feel the world watching me.

So I’d be a little afraid
but also get a little thrill.
So I liked to stop occasionally.

But these days the world seems
to have turned its eyes away from me.
The world seems quite bored with me.
Even the stuff in my own house.
Even my own house.

However I can still summon
the deep hushed thrill of mystery
by using this trick:

I will force myself to stop
buzzing about

then tell all I see in the world around me:

Yes, I may be just a speck
but so are you—
we’re all just specks on a speck.

We’re all just appliances
and neither you nor I can say for certain
where we came from
or where we'll go
once we’re done here.

Those unanswerable questions
will then spark my mind
and I’ll begin to ask myself:

How could something come from nothing?
And what purpose does all the stuff
of the Universe serve?
Does a purpose even exist?

Of course, all my pondering
will lead nowhere
and when I finally give up
I’ll be left with an empty head.
I’ll just stand there
in the quiet stillness of the moment—
overwhelmed
by the mystery of this universe.
What a buzz.  What a thrill.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2025, Michael R. Patton

My Alien Brother

author’s note:

In memory of Gary Booker, Keith Reid, and B.J. Wilson of Procol Harum.

Blokes, I hope you’re enjoying your new tank.  Send a sign if you feel inclined.


MY ALIEN BROTHER

One day at a cathedral-like aquarium
I watched an octopus in a tank
pulse its body up through the dark water
by throwing its tenacles out
then pulling some unseen string
and bringing them back together again.

I saw the force of life in those propulsions.

Where does such energy come from?—
how can a dinner of little fish
possibly be enough to keep that engine going?

As I pondered that question
I again began to feel
the energy that pulsates
through my own physical frame.

Like the octopus
I seem to be plugged in.

But plugged into what?

Can we ever see
behind the curtain of this mystery?
I asked the octopus.

But all the creature wanted was to enjoy
its rhythmic jaunt through the murky water.

Sometimes in an odd hour
I’ll turn my thoughts to that alien brother
and again feel the quiet thrill
of expanding my small mind
by trying to imagine
what secrets might be revealed
if I could ever
pierce through the veil.

mythsteps · my alien brother

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Buckets & Ladders

author’s note:

I’m so desperate for good news, I’m trying to make a little myself.


BUCKETS & LADDERS

The candidate says he can save us.

But no—
he couldn’t even if he tried.
As the wise one once said:

You are the only one
who can lower your bucket
down into the well.
You are the only one
who can climb your ladder.

When the candidate proclaims:
“I’m so tall, I’m so deep!”
he sounds so short, so shallow.
Yet many believe that snake-oil salesman
because they’re searching for hope.

Well, I’ve found hope in another belief
because I see
it slowly becoming a reality:

Tired of being less than we actually are
we will reclaim our power
by rejecting our idols
and lowering our buckets down
deep into the moon in the well
while climbing up our ladders—
climbing, trying to reach the sun.

mythsteps · buckets and ladders

I’m Responsible: a book
dream steps blog
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Why I Listen for the Angel

author’s note:

When a man hears angels singing
he hears angels singing.
                — Mary Oliver


WHY I LISTEN FOR THE ANGEL

Once as a child
I thought I heard an angel
singing wordlessly in a gentle upper octave.
A soft silvery sound.

And so, years later
during a turbulent time
I sat down in silence
hoping to detect
at least a trace of that song
and find the same solace.

But no—
I didn’t hear any angel.
However
as I recalled
that moment of pure peace
the love I’d once found within that sound
filled my heart again.

And then I sensed
what that child had sensed
long ago:
I was not alone.  I was known
by loving eyes in a world unseen.

But then I began to wonder:

if the angel felt such empathy
why didn’t it intercede
when it saw me stumbling—
when it saw me about to fall?

Then I realized
each time I land hard
I wake a bit more
and so, my eyes slowly open.

No, I don’t know
if I’m really watched over.  However
I can say for certain:

whenever I slip
I’m able to lift myself back up
by listening
for something I probably won’t hear:
the soft silvery song
of an angel.

mythsteps · why I listen for the angel

Listening to Silence: poetry book
dream steps blog
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

The Wonderful Cipher

author’s note:

Continuing a theme.


THE WONDERFUL CIPHER

When he saw her at the dance party
my friend nudged me in the ribs
and said with a laugh
Would you look at her!

So I turned my eyes
to the woman across the room:

Obviously anxious.  Shy.  Vulnerable, she was.
Perhaps embarrassed
by how her ears stuck out from her hair
or how
those two front teeth stuck out from her mouth.

But I choose to believe
all humans hold the magic of nightfall
(though we often hide the mystery well)
so I studied her until
I again felt the reality of that belief:

She’s a wonderful cipher
I then told my friend.

When he realized I was serious
he focused his beams
and after he saw what I had seen
he swallowed a deep breath
and strolled over to her—

moving carefully—
the way one approaches a deer
or a space alien.

I say:
the power and blessing of this belief
comes from how it asks us
to open our eyes
and see for ourselves.

mythsteps · the wonderful cipher

finding Beauty: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

The Mystery Lurking in Our Lake

author’s note:

I say: if you’ve seen a lake monster, you’ve seen a lake monster.


THE MYSTERY LURKING IN OUR LAKE

Late that night
I parked by the lake
and unwrapped the monster costume
I’d bought to frighten some friends
who’d set up camp nearby.

But when the police cruised by
I tossed the outfit behind my back.
And as soon as it hit the lake
that costume sank.

An incident I decided not to mention
when those reports came in
the following week:

One said
a creature from the deep
had terrorized a fisherman.

Apparently
my suit of rubbery scales
had gotten caught for a moment
on a hook intended for catfish.

The other claim came
from two recreational canoers.

After hearing a tapping
on the bottom of their boat
they looked down to find
a big green reptile face glaring up at them—
just a glimpse before it slipped
back into the depths.

Apparently
their paddles had stirred
the water just enough
to lift the costume up.

So why didn’t I expose
those errors of perception?

Apparently, I’m a small man
who likes to hold secrets
because he then feels superior.

Nonetheless, I’m glad I kept my mouth shut:

Now people who want to believe
in the incredible
can look out over this lake
and imagine mystery lurking
beneath its sleepy surface.

I must admit I envied them at first:
I wanted to feel the same sense of wonder.

But then one night
I glimpsed a peculiar creature
lurking under my reflection.
Now in the evening I sometimes
peer into the mirror
to see what else might emerge
from my sleepy surface.

mythsteps · The Mystery Lurking in Our Lake

What I Learned While Alone: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Fable of the Woman Who Collided with Herself

author’s note:

Who’s holding this world together?

You are.


FABLE OF THE WOMAN WHO COLLIDED WITH HERSELF

Needing to rest
she went to visit her middle-aged friend
who’d recently retired
to his porch swing.

But soon felt disturbed
because that tired man kept telling her:
do what you want, but I say:
why try to stop this world
from colliding with itself?—
after all, collision seems to be just what people want.

Though she disagreed
our heroine did not challenge him—
she felt too weak to defend
her choice to do what she could to keep
this world from colliding with itself.

Yes, that work had given her life
so much life
for so many years
but recently
the life she lived had left her
feeling drained of life.

So now she could actually imagine
retiring to the swing with him
but at the same time
the thought of succumbing
to that temptation
rang an alarm in her heart.

And so she ended her stay early
and returned to the task
of rolling that stone up a hill.

And whenever her energy lagged
she imagined the man
just sitting here
going back and forth
without moving
day after day
year after year.
Oh how she pitied him!

But perhaps that strong woman should’ve felt
the same empathy for herself:

in time, the work that gave life to her life
again began to drain the life from her.
Yet she ignored her fatigue
out of a sense of responsibility.
And as a result
collided with herself
once again
and had no choice but to rest.

So our heroine returned
to the man in the swing—
but now without fear of temptation
because she expected to find him
in slow steady decline—
she believed seeing him
in such a pathetic state
would encourage her
to continue her work.

But no—
she found him looking happy and pink.
Oh how demoralized she felt then—
how could he just sit there
day after day
year after year
and still be so buoyant?

Then she got another shock
when he said:
I’m so happy to see you so happy.

Clearly
he couldn’t see her—
apparently
his satisfying sedentary life
had dimmed his mind—
his eyes.

She felt so sad for him then--
her decision to reject the swing
now seemed so wise.
A sigh of relief then released her fatigue.
And a fresh breath of energy
lifted her wings.

So once again she bid the man adieu.
Once again, she flew.

Now, whenever she feels
the life that gives her life life
begin to drain away her life
she again returns to man in the swing
because she knows that happy fellow
will always tell her:

I am so happy to see you so happy.

mythsteps · fable of the woman who collided with herself

Survival: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Dream of the Drop

author’s note:

The theory stated by the train traveler in this poem is a truncated version of an idea first proposed by Dr. Allan Hobson.


THE DREAM OF THE DROP

Before I woke this morning I saw
a drop of rain fall down through
a strange starless night
and land
with tiny silvery ripples
in a river glistening black—a river
without beginning or end.

In the dream, I then
peered through a microscope lens
and found in that dark-blue drop
a luminous web of complexity.
The sensory nerves of a spirit.

Thus
an event that first seemed
of little importance
suddenly felt momentous.

Later I told a man on the train:
“That drop is me, my life
 and the river symbolizes
 this metaphysical truth:

“what is here now
 has always been
 and will always be.”

With a yawn, the man replied
“You’re so desperate for meaning
 you’ll invent meaning
 where meaning
 doesn’t actually exist.

“Don’t you know?—
 dreams are merely the product
 of random neural firings
 in the brain as we sleep.”

Having heard that argument before
I then ended our little engagement
with this countermove I’d practiced:

“If an event feels significant
 then isn’t it significant?
 Yeah, maybe I am desperate
 but life loses life when life loses meaning.

“The fact is:
 neither one of us can prove our ideas.
 So now the question is:
 of the two, which belief serves us best?”

mythsteps · the dream of the drop

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

What I Tell Myself while Dangling in the Dark

author’s note:

Hang in there.


WHAT I TELL MYSELF WHILE DANGLING IN THE DARK

Moonlight whitens a spider
bobbing up, then down
amid the shadow leaves.

The sight elicits a visceral response—
I identify with that daredevil:
we’re both dangling in the dark—
hanging in mid-air.

However
the metaphor isn’t perfect:
the spider knows his own string well
unlike me—
I don’t know what holds me.
So I worry

then worry about the amount I worry:
doubt could pull me down
into a night without moonlight.

So every day I try to lift myself
with these thoughts:

“I am but a puppet
   moved by higher forces.
   And those gods will not let me fall.
   Because I serve them.

“Yes, they keep me suspended in suspense
   but only because I must learn to trust.

“Yes, it’s good for me to be here:
   this instability forces me
   to find the strength needed
   to deal with our uncertainty.”

To be honest
these ideas don’t ease my anxiety much
and yet
I repeat them often
because
the story they tell
gives this precarious life meaning
and without that significance
I might just say:
I have had enough.
I give up.

mythsteps · What I Tell Myself while Dangling in the Dark

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
myth steps blog
dream steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

A Belief Better Suited to the Situation

author’s note:

Dreams seem real because they are real.


A BELIEF BETTER SUITED TO THE SITUATION

I opened my eyes
to find myself adrift—
bobbing in what seemed to be
a night sea.
Cold had numbed my spine.

No stars above to guide me.
I thought I saw shoreline lights in the distance.
But then I saw nothing.
No horizon—
black water had merged with black sky.

All I’d heard about
“seizing your personal power”
seemed absurd now.

I couldn’t even control my own anxiety.
My fear kept pulling me down.

Fortunately
I then remembered a belief
better suited to the situation:

when we feel helplessly lost
we only need to surrender—
the heavenly powers will assist
if you’re willing to admit
the truth of your weakness.

Though I doubted that promise
I realized:
by adopting the strategy
I could conserve energy.

So I lay myself back
spread my arms wide
and said to the sky:
I will accept whatever happens
as being part of some higher plan.

The waters then did what waters do:
they floated a body at rest.
However
I did not feel at rest
and worried I might drown in worry.

But then
the clouds began to break apart
to reveal a big round moon—
a tap that poured its pure light down
to fill my empty cup—
as I gazed up
into the luminous source
a surge of love flooded through my being.

Why that response?
Innate, I guess.  Perhaps we possess
a higher instinct.
In any case, I relaxed in an instant

and remained spellbound
for what could have been a few minutes
for what could have been a few hours

but then my shoulders nudged the sandy shore—
the current had taken me home.

When pinned
in some unexpected unavoidable predicament
sometimes (but certainty not all the time)
I should surrender to the circumstance.

But often
passive acceptance
feels even scarier
than aggressive resistance.

At such times, sometimes
I’m able to settle the inner conflict
by remembering
the way I saved my life
in a blessed dream that night.

mythsteps · A Belief Better Suited to the Situation

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Bee

author's note:

"Buzz!  Buzz!"
        — Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew


THE BEE

Years ago
while searching for beliefs
that would give our life meaning
I said “yes” to this idea:

a plan exists for each human being.

Yes—the life stories I heard
often seemed to confirm that thought.
Many times the wise design was so clear.

However

when I looked back at my own tracks
I couldn’t even see a vague outline
in that gnarly mess.
No sense, just nonsense.

Finally in frustration
I stood up from the table
and walked in a straight mile
to the clover field—

I would lay myself down and allow
that laid-back expanse
to lull me into a sweet nap.

But the brilliance of the sun
kept my eyes open—
amid the green, I spotted a bee
zigging and zagging and zigging.
No apparent pattern in its avid track
and yet
it found one small white flower after another.
Restlessly relentless—
that bee was me.

I’m still trying to see
the grand design made for me.
However, now I don’t doubt
my life serves a purpose.
Consider this indisputable fact:
mad-active bees load this hive with honey.

mythsteps · The Bee

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Catching Fog

author's note:

As they say in the movies: based on a true story.


CATCHING FOG

While walking to school
one childhood morning
I thought I could lose myself
in a fog cloud hovering
on the other side of the field.

But though I ran hard
I arrived to find
that thick cloud had fled
and when I turned, I saw
the mysterious vapor waiting
over there where I’d started.

So I raced back
but again that fog tricked me.
Hooked by my fantasy
I ran again—I ran

until
I finally had to stop
to get
my wind
back.

Only then did I feel
the burn of those wet wisps
deep inside my chest.

Satisfied that I’d caught some fog
I lifted my head and walked on
as the sun began to clear the cloud.

That childhood folly
later became a useful metaphor
when I needed to accept
what appeared to be the folly
of my adult life.
Consider the story:

for years
I raced here and there
and back again.
But no matter where I went
the imaginary heaven I sought
was never where I was.

Finally forced to stop
I felt I’d lost
until
I discovered I burned hot
with all that I had taken in.

After that realization
I lifted my head again
and saw that the fog had begun to thin
cleared by insight—
or
in the words of this metaphor-maker:
sharp rays of the morning’s sunlight.

mythsteps · Catching Fog

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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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
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Sunset Celebration

author’s note:

Yes, I truly believe there’s a big bank.


SUNSET CELEBRATION

At the end
as our little Earth
sails into the sunset
I hope those left on deck
will hoist their glasses
in celebration of our accomplishment.

After all, to survive that long
we had to rise above
the dictates of our reptilian brain.

A higher degree earned
after millennia of pain.

I reject the thought
all that good work will be lost
as this planet rides the waves into the sun.

No, I say:
such wisdom goes
into a big bank somewhere—
where?  Somewhere.
Souls all over this universe
make deposits.

I won’t be there at our end
but I will be there at my own
and on my death bed
I’ll hoist a glass if I can—
I’ll celebrate what I’ve learned
during my class time on Earth.
I’ll know:

my rough ride on these waves
has been worth the pain
of frequent seasickness
because the gain won’t be lost
but stored for purposes
this tiny mind can’t possibly imagine.

Get the Message: a short guide for understanding dreams
dream steps blog
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

My Best Guess

author’s note:

My ideas will evolve, I'm sure.  But I don't think I'll find a better best guess.


MY BEST GUESS

As a child I tied myself up

in order to survive.

Now as a captive adult
I work to undo the tangle

because I realize
for my spirit to survive
I must go against
old survival tactics.

What could be the benefit
of a design that creates
so much inner conflict?
My best guess is based
on what seems most apparent:
we are learning to be strong.

First, by fighting for life
as all other beasts do.
Then by fighting for our soul
within the lines of this human zoo.

mythsteps · My Best Guess

Searching for my best beliefs: poetry book
myth steps blog
dream steps blog
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The Love Life of Those Who Live in the Cold

author’s note:

Someone once asked me if I ever wrote love poetry.

They’re all love poems.


THE LOVE LIFE OF THOSE WHO LIVE IN THE COLD

I asked my Arctic hosts
how they managed to thrive
in that frozen land.

And they replied:
we try to find ways
to love those hardships
we can’t escape.
For instance:

we love
the spring morning wind
that burns our face raw red—
we love when that cold fire shrieks:
I want to wake you from your stupor.

When some stir troubles us
we remember that goddess
and then feel grateful
for the disturbance on our waters.

We also love
the all-consuming darkness of winter—
in his murmurs we hear:
I’m here to help you
deepen down
into yourselves
so you can know
how much more you truly are.

Whenever a shadow falls upon us
we remember that winter god
and then feel grateful
for the darkness in our path.

Yes, in this extreme land
we might moan all the way to death
if we didn’t recognize the blessings
in the incessant adversity of our life.

I thanked those wise lovers then—
telling them:
maybe now I’ll feel grateful
for the disturbance and darkness
that stirs me
that deepens me
in my own frozen land.

mythsteps · The Love Life of Those Who Live in the Cold

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