That House

author’s note:

The house in the photo above is that house.  We never thought to take pictures of our own house, I regret to say.


THAT HOUSE

In a recent dream
I returned to my childhood home.

The belly of the whale—
the cacophonous womb
where I danced and wailed.

For years I’ve looked back
so that I might know that house
so that I could move on.

I’ve gone through those rooms so many times.
I’ve shifted through their closets and drawers.
I’ve searched deep, then deeper still.
I’ve catalogued and studied even the smallest finds.
I should be done with that mad house by now, shouldn’t I?

But no, I’m not.  Nor will I ever be.

Because that house keeps changing.
In this recent dream, I opened a new door
and discovered a hallway
that connects the sunny front
with the shadowy back.
That house continues to evolve with each new visit.
That house continues to evolve as I do.
I evolve as I work to change my perspective.

As part of the process
I try to find more sun now
when I look back at that house.
Here’s my idea, my hope:

My present reflects my past.  So
if I can find more sun in my early years
then today will be sunnier too.

The dream tells me:
Our education is never complete.
Always more to be known.
Walk down those dark hallways.
Even a little house is a mansion of doors.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
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© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Net of Memories

author’s note:

Why did I choose the beach?

I wanted to make my hair wavy.


NET OF MEMORIES

Fatigued by certain persistent memories
that afternoon I laid down on the ocean beach
hoping to find some peace.

And as I dozed between two worlds
a wave came up and sloshed my head.
Then receded—
dragging all the bric-a-brac in my brain away—
away into the gently-breathing bay.

Soon another wave
would bring it all back
but for a few moments
my collection of memories spread
through those soothing blue waters—
each one was a living cell
connected to several others
by fibers strong as violin strings.
Taken all together
they formed a complex web.

I realized then:
if my wish was granted
and I could cut away any cells I didn’t want
each extraction would leave
a hole in that net.

Ever since that nap on the beach
I’ve embrace all my memories—
even those that spark powerful pain.
I need the net intact in order to feed this brain.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
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© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Dream Life of a Crab

author’s note:

We may be better than we realize.


DREAM LIFE OF A CRAB

As twilight softens the day
crabs emerge from the sand
and walk sideways to meet
sparkling waves sliding up the beach.

While up on the hill
the choir begins
its evening prayer song
under the open pavilion.

I hear a song wave rise—
starting with a dark bass moan
then climbing higher and higher—

the voices strive
until they reach the pure crystal note.

However they can only stay at that peak
for a moment
before falling back down.
They fall all the way back down.

But then after a breath
another wave rises—
rises up from the deeper desire.

A desire I begin to feel within myself
as I listen to the song waves roll out—
those waves spread out—
spread out through the night
until lost
in the complex mix of rushes and sighs
of a monolithic ocean.

With its song, the choir asks
for a blessing
and by asking, blesses all.

Blesses me—
as I walk this borderland
between the earth and sea.

I try to take it all in
but soon I must exhale

and return to being a crab.

A lowly life, yes
but occasionally I’m able
to lift myself up
by returning to this twilight beach
in my imagination.
And then I remember this truth again:

As I crawl sideways—
hobbled and hoping and nervous—
deep within I’m always singing
this grand ocean wave song.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
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© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Our Dream of Fog and Sun

author’s note:

Is this poem based on an actual dream?

Its truth is based on many many dreams.


OUR DREAM OF FOG AND SUN

At the beginning of the dream
I saw
the golden tip of a rising sun

but suddenly fog swarmed in
and I began to struggle
to find a way through
that messy mass of cloud—
hoping for another shot of brightness.

Twice, the gray fabric thinned
and I glimpsed the brilliant circle
of the sun god through the gauze

but soon—too soon—the clouds crowded in again.

When I awoke
the message seemed obvious:

At birth my clear eyes
could see the sun
but the fog of this world
quickly dimmed my sight.

And though I’ve struggled hard
to defog my head
the haze remains quite thick

except for those blessed moments
when I’m able to part the clouds long enough
to see the sun again.

Those splendid breaks
help keep me strong in the battle.

I now realize:
though I may never achieve
clear victory
as long as I continue to fight
I will never be defeated.

I say:
my dream expresses a predicament
faced by anyone born human.

Maybe we can never regain
what we lost at birth
but if we struggle
to cut through the fog
we’ll occasionally realize our truth.

And the light we find then
will stay with us
all the way to the end.

How Can I Live In This World?: poetry book
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

The Sun in My Future

author’s note:

I believe our greatest accomplishments often go unnoticed.  We don't even see them ourselves.


THE SUN IN MY FUTURE

A week ago, I woke with this image
in the darkness of my aching head:

A tear
dangling from the tip
of an eyelash.
The drop beamed like a small sun.

I’d seen that teardrop before—
years ago
so I already understood the message:

By releasing grief
I will cleanse my eye
and then see the world in light.

But apparently that clarity
is still far away—
as before, I saw the drop
through the lens of a telescope.

Naturally, I felt disappointed
and began to wonder
if I’d ever reach that sunny place.

So to strengthen my resolve
I wrote this poem—
knowing
I’d rewrite it many times
and each time
I would see that sundrop.
And as a result
the image would anchor in my mind.

So maybe now
I won’t slip
and forget
my deep desire
as I often have in the past.
No, I won’t lapse
and slack in the task
of clearing those clouds from my eye.

mythsteps · the sun in my future

The Truth of the Dream: poetry book
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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

Blessed Affliction

author’s note:

When I found the above cartoon recently, I wondered why I’d made that drawing years ago.

So I wrote a poem and discovered why.


BLESSED AFFLICTION

She didn’t see the cause
of her problems
until she dreamt that dream

in which she tried to rise
but fell over sideways
and then watched her long blue wing
flap helplessly against the ground
in puffs of dust.

When she awoke
our heroine could then see
her invisible reality:

on one side
she had a wing instead of an arm.
And on the other, no wing, just the arm.

No wonder she kept falling
when she tried to ascend.
No wonder the boxes
she tried to lift
often fell to the ground.

Now she knew why
some people fall into the dust
time after time after time
and struggle so much
when they try to carry boxes.

With such folk she’s now found a home.

Under that roof
they gather to grieve their plight.
But also encourage themselves
by sharing stories
of afflicted individuals
who never stopped trying to fly—
who never stopped trying
to lift boxes.
And so they continued to grow
until they grew
not only another wing
but another arm too.

Those stories have shown our heroine
the blessing inherent in her affliction:

if she didn’t have that one wing
she wouldn’t feel such a strong desire to fly
and if she had two arms, instead of just one
she wouldn’t want to lift boxes so badly.

Driven to lift
and driven to fly
she may eventually earn
another wing and another arm
and then carry boxes while in flight.

mythsteps · blessed affliction

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry book
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Better Bell

author’s note:

In memory of my father.  I hope he’s now hearing his better bell.


THE BETTER BELL

When I saw
that long red-gold braid of hair
dangling down the tower wall
I imagined a lovely lass
at the other end above.

But when I shouted up at her
she did not respond.

So I decided to climb
a few feet up
and give that tail of hair
a little tug—
maybe she’d wake up.

But oh, what a chore—
trying to hook my fingertips
and toes
into the spaces between the stones.

Then
when I finally came within reach of it
the tail jumped up a bit
and so I missed
and nearly slipped and fell.

Though my better sense then said “no”
I hoisted myself a few feet more.

But as soon as I got within reach again
again the rope jumped.

Continuing in this way
I struggled up the tower wall—
whenever I came close to the braid
it again mocked my wish
and shot up a few more notches.
Apparently the damsel meant to tantalize me—
she’d make me earn her love.

Halfway up
I knew I should stop
but now
I wanted what I wanted
simply because I’d failed to get it.

I’d been told as a child:
success is always within reach
as long as you keep trying.
And now I didn’t want to unbelieve
a belief I’d always found so encouraging.

So even though my hands began
to ache and bleed
I kept following that cord
until it slipped over the gray stone ledge
to the other side of the wall.

Then with relief
I hoisted my tired body
over to the other side
and landed a patio of slab rock.

In the center I saw
a massive bell
set in a heavy wooden frame.
Red sunset sunlight shimmered
across the golden brass.

But where was my ravishing beauty?

At first, I felt so disappointed
when I did not find her
at the end of the braid—
apparently, my heroic efforts
would go unrewarded.

But at least when I reached
the rope now waited for me

and when I pulled it tight
the pulley turned
and that big bell awoke—
a power sound boomed out—
the vibration tremored my body.

And when I let the rope go slack
again the heavy clapper landed on thick metal.
Again my frame rang.
Again

great waves of sound
spread over—all over—
the broad countryside below

to bustle the red-gold trees on the hills

and rustle sun-tipped wheat
on fields ready for harvest

while riffling the straw
on humble thatch-roof cottages.

To any frustrated wall-climber
who’s read this far
I offer this moral to my story
hoping I may ease their pain
with a higher truth:

though we pursue a foolish dream
and fail in our pursuit…

through our courageous efforts
we may pull ourselves up
and eventually arrive at a bell much better
than the one we thought we wanted
when we first started to climb.

mythsteps · the better bell

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Our Secret Truth

author’s note:

Alas, I decided to delete my favorite line:

“I stopped squirming like an unearthed earthworm”


OUR SECRET TRUTH

Dreams know where we need to go.

So last night as I slept
an unseen force
lifted me up without a touch
and hung me up
in an open black space.

Though the room had disappeared
I could still see my bed
below in the darkness.
So I tried to wiggle free
knowing I could expect a soft landing.

But whatever held me
would not release me.
And as my anxiety mounted
I begin to fight
and when my struggle proved futile
I fought harder, then harder still

until I feared I might go mad
if I continued
and so

I forced myself to stop
and let my frame sag lamely in the dark.

Then I waited—
enduring the tedious torture
of being pinned—
waited
until the child within
finally surrendered to the situation
and quit whining.

And when the noise cleared
I then sensed
the strength within my soul.
And so my torment ended.
And so I woke from the dream.

So easy to forget what I’ve got
until I’m forced once more
to rediscover that secret truth.

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

Welcome, Monstrosity

author’s note:

Courage…a daily requirement.


WELCOME, MONSTROSITY

While walking in the moonlight
through a snowy field
in a dream one night
I suddenly saw

the monolithic silhouette of a giant
standing in my path.

A star sparkled on the tip
of a spear aimed straight at my heart.

So I turned to run

and awoke in my soft bed.

Though relieved
I felt limp with loss—
I’d been told
we can only defeat
the shadowy threats of our dreams
by facing them head-on.

Hoping for solace
I confessed my failure
to the wise one

who then said:

as long as you remember
the shame you now feel
you’ll fight to overcome your weakness.

And so
after struggling many days
with the disgrace of my retreat
I felt such a lift
when the giant stood before me again—
I opened my arms and yelled:
welcome, monstrosity!

And actually felt disappointed
when the shadow vanished the next instant.

The field of snow shone in moonlight
but instead of continuing on the path
I followed the trail of a little chipmunk
into the dark woods nearby.

The next day I returned to the wise one
to crow of my success.

Yes, she said
better to face the shadows within
before we take on
the giant shadows of our world—

hard to win
when you’re waging war on two fronts.

mythsteps · Welcome Monstrosity

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

The Weight

author’s note:

Not to be confused with the song of the same name.

The weight in the poem is a different type of burden than the one described in the song.  Heavier.


THE WEIGHT

In the dream
I carried the world on my shoulders

and felt unfairly burdened

until I looked around the crowd
and saw how everyone else also struggled
to remain upright.

The weight just might break the human race.

Some say
the weight comes from the knowledge
death always watches
and may suddenly become impatient.

Some say the same in another way—
they say
the weight comes from
our distrust of the world—
the instinct that keeps us alive.

Yes—
I feel myself wrapped inside
that state of mind

except in those moments
when the stronger me breaks free.

In the openness of release
I may again experience
the unknown enormity
of a sky and planet so grand.

At such times
life seems much too much—
even in peace the weight stays with me.

So
since I can’t get rid of the weight
I’ve decided to embrace the burden—

I tell myself:
if you didn’t feel the weight
you wouldn’t struggle so hard to be strong.

mythsteps · The Weight

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

The Egg Surrenders to the Inevitable

author’s note:

We seem to be metaphor-making machines.


THE EGG SURRENDERS TO THE INEVITABLE

All that day I wondered
if we would ever change

so that night my deeper mind
gave me this dream:

I’m egg
trapped inside its shell

so I want to break out
but no—I feel safe
but no, I don’t really feel safe
because this shell could break.
I should leave such a fragile place
but no—
this space has kept me safe.

So I try to go but I try to stay

and remain locked in place
until I finally realize the obvious:
I can not live, unless
I accept this death.
So I surrender to the inevitable:

I let my shell break open.

But then
I can no longer live
as an egg

so I live as an open well—
humbly offering water to all
because I know
I don’t actually own that water.

The dream told me:
one morning we will finally
surrender to the inevitable
and then yell:
to hell with this shell!

mythsteps · The Egg Surrenders to the Inevitable

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

The Plus of My Minus

author’s note:

We all have a stairway.


THE PLUS OF MY MINUS

In a dream
I climbed to the top of the stairs
despite missing a muscle in one leg.
How I struggled.

Why would anyone hampered
by such an injury
drag themselves up a stairway
when they could just as well sit
and rest ‘til death?

Maybe I imagine
through the act of lifting myself up
I’ll transform
into someone whole.

Or maybe I hope
when I reach the top
success will ease the pain
of this deficiency.

However
I don’t think I felt triumphant
at the end of the dream.
In any case
my leg hadn’t grown another muscle.

But that’s okay--
now I can see
how my minus actually benefits me:

as I struggle I grow stronger.

So I’ll keep struggling--
I’m desperate
to rid myself of this feeling of weakness.

Perhaps my dream
is also a dream for the human race:

yes, we’re missing at least one muscle
in at least one leg
but as a result
maybe we’ll continue to struggle--
maybe we’ll continue to climb.

No, I don’t think
we will ever be whole
but with each step we take
we will lift ourselves up
and then stand in a better place.

mythsteps · The Plus of My Minus

Glorious Tedious Transformation: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The Walking Metaphor

author’s note:

Based on an actual event.


THE WALKING METAPHOR

Sometimes a metaphor stuns me.

Like the one I saw this morning:

a woman walking
backwards
on the sidewalk by the park.

Soon
the trees hid her from view
and I recovered enough
to decipher my response:

I can see the past--
I can see I’m on a path
but
I can’t see for certain
where I’m stepping.

With that realization
I remembered
a dream from the night before:
I saw the tracks I’d made
as well as the tracks
I would make
shining on a dirt track.

That dream told me:
you must learn to trust your deep luminous eye.

That woman in the park
steps with confidence
--why?--
because she trusts
her deep luminous eye.

I can see her now
and feel inspired.
However
when someone walks backwards
you naturally worry they’ll fall.

I suppose I could pray
for her safe passage
but wouldn’t that show a lack of faith
in her inner strength--
in her spirit?

But I can still pray--
I will pray a way that honors her:

every day
in my heart I will thank her
for being
a walking metaphor
for all to witness.

mythsteps · The Walking Metaphor

Common Courage: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Prometheus, Revisited

author’s note:

Maybe the Greek gods were real after all.  That would explain the capriciousness of life.


PROMETHEUS, REVISITED

The myth of Prometheus
would seem to be a warning
to those who’d try to bring fire
down from the mountaintop.

As they did with him
the gods might wrap you in chains
and send an eagle down to devour
your liver every damn day.

Nonetheless I accepted the risk—
hoping to satisfy my creative impulse
(and my ego as well, of course).

But with that choice
I put myself in the chains
of ambition

then later refused
to set myself loose
when my sparks only made
small flames
that dwindled and died.

Though my ego died a bit
with each pathetic death
I actually pulled the chains tighter
because

those flickering promises
kept my aspiration burning

and by then I’d realized:
if I let that mad dream die
life would lack meaning
and so
my life would lack life.

Maybe I stoke my inner fire
with delusion
but hey—
sometimes in that way
fools make blazes
bright enough
to rouse the jealousy
of those who try to play god.

40 New Fables
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The Greater Fear

author’s note:

Based on a dream.  So it must be true.


THE GREATER FEAR

As I began to wake I began to realize
I was scaling a mountain—

my destination unknown—
hidden in the clouds high above.

Having come so far
up the side of this vertical rock
I decided to keep climbing.
And besides—the way down
appeared to be very tricky footing.

Fortunately
the matter at hand helps to distract me
from the distance
I still need to go
as well as the distance
I could fall.

However
I must occasionally stop for air
and though I may then experience
a moment of peace
if the break goes on too long
my fear of heights
will start to shout:
don’t dare move another finger.

Fortunately
my greater fear:
the fear
of being caught in the net
of that natural fear
spurs me then
to stretch my arms
once again.

mythsteps · The Greater Fear

Common Courage: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Drumbeat Down in the Well

author’s note:

“We experience a dream as real because it is real.”
             -- William Dement


DRUMBEAT DOWN IN THE WELL

When the mower suddenly died that day
I said: “Must be a sign from above!”
and lay myself down on the lawn.

Then as I eased into a half-doze
I detected a pulsing murmur--
perhaps a distant drumbeat

for a ritual dance
of men, women, children--

a tribal circle reaching up
to the circle of the moon:
a celebration I might find
by going where my shadow pointed
as the sun sank in the west.

So I stood up and began to walk
or maybe I only dreamt I did--
in any case
I traced that quiet seductive summons
across a broad savanna
through the starless dark

until I arrived at a well
round as a drum--
its waters reflected a full moon.

I knew I’d reached the source
yet the sound had died down
so I listened down
down into that glowing whole
and as a result
I began to feel the beat
softly echoing up
from a deeper chamber of my heart.

I knew then
I was the ritual circle dancing--
reaching up
even as I listened down.

I understood:
I celebrate this life
every day with every beat--
even when I feel dull gray--even then
I’m still amazed
by this mystery we’re in.

Then
having finally realized the obvious
I returned--
finding my way back
with natural ease
because I was no longer lost.

But though we go back
we never really lose
what we’ve gained, do we?

I can still hear that deep drum--
even now as I mow
this sunny lawn.

Dancing to Raven’s Song: a novel
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The Bridge

author’s note:

When I discovered the Golden Gate bridge wasn’t actually painted gold, I felt disappointed.

But later, I realized: regardless of the color, it’s golden.


THE BRIDGE

In the dream I saw a bridge
arc across the sky

only to fade too soon as rainbows do.

So as I woke
I felt both hope
and disappointment:

again I knew a drive that often irritates--
the desire to bridge a divide within
and end this war with myself.

“You can’t even maintain
 that bridge in your dreams!”

sighed the adult
who, for years, has felt
the tiresome frustration
of continually struggling
to create a peace
that, once made, soon evaporates
like a fantasy.

But then the bright child I sometimes am
countered with this claim:
though you can’t yet hold that bridge up
under the pressures of this world
its truth always lives within you.

But before the two could argue
the wise one rose up from down deep
to tell me:

this dream came because
you needed to remember
that the pain of desire unfulfilled
feels worse than the pain of fatigue.

Now you’ll keep working
to strengthen your golden bridge.

The Truth of the Dream: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Message to a Rocket Launcher

author's note:

Some say dreams are meaningless.

I say: maybe theirs are.  Not mine.


MESSAGE TO A ROCKET LAUNCHER

When I heard the man claim
he had slept quite well
after launching that long-range attack
I remembered a dream
I can’t forget:

in the scene
I squatted on a desert plain
and from my big bazooka
shot a ball of barb-wire
at an unknown enemy
somewhere over there

and felt quite pleased
a moment later, when
I spied a poof of dust
rising on the horizon.

But then I looked down
and found a wire strung
all the way from my trigger finger
to the distant point of impact.

In frantic desperation
I tried to untie the wire
but those barbs stung my hand--
without thinking, I ran

with that wire trailing after me--
delivering hot jolts of pain
to my finger, arm, body, brain.

Waking in a cold fever
I knew I needed
to understand that nightmare
and though I often miss the obvious
I soon realized its message:

when you try to get rid of the hurt you feel
by putting the hurt on somebody else
you’re connected to the pain
you’ve created for the other.
Thus
you actually hurt worse.

From this dream, we can see
I am still an angry child

but adult enough
to be honest with you now--
hoping

this dream message will awaken
at least one other rocket launcher
to a truth so obvious
it often goes unnoticed:
  when you choose the wrong way
  to deal with your pain
  you only worsen the wound.

Maybe then
having lost his blind innocence
that launcher may stop trying
to punish the other
and instead fight to heal
his wounded self
and in that way help heal
a world filled
with bazookas and barb-wire.

The Truth of the Dream: poetry ebook
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton