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
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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

The Fortune Teller Tells Me

author’s note:

Physician, heal thyself.
          -- ancient proverb

THE FORTUNE TELLER TELLS ME

In fear, we nearly destroy our life here--
fearing for our survival
we infect cities, forests, fields, and seas.

Then fearing for survival
we find the strength we need
to resurrect our world.

So her crystal ball does offer some hope.

But I tell her
I think I’d feel better
if I could do more to help
during these feverish times.

The fortune teller then tells me:
you could resurrect yourself.

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Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Stone Alive

author’s note:

When you don’t have a boulder (see last post), a rock will do.


STONE ALIVE

One day, feeling frustrated
with all the dust of our noise
I sat down on the ground
and lifted a rock
and to amuse myself, said:

“Can you help me, dear stone?
  Old as you are
  you must know something
  about life on this planet.
  Has age made you a sage?

“But no, I suppose
  only mountains and cliffs
  can give us wisdom.”
That plain gray stone
seemed so insignificant, so dumb.

But then as I relaxed
in afternoon idleness
I no longer asked, but merely gazed

and as that stone warmed my palm
I slowly became enchanted:
I no longer perceived the thing as dead
but as an entity
tightly contained within its own self.

I actually sensed an essence--
an intensity radiating
from a power within: a force
so subtle as to seem unreal
and yet as incessant and insistent
as the drone of a Stonehenge megalith.

But my tolerance for amazement
has its limits:
I soon lay the stone back down
then bowed with respect
and ambled on.

Since then, I’ve occasionally paused
long enough to meditate upon a stone
and though I appreciate them as solid friends
that can calm me on uncertain days
I’ve never again felt the same intensity.

However, I don’t doubt their power.  No--
the problem lies with my erratic concentration.
I know:

if such a plain gray stone
holds the energy of life
so do all the other rocks
cascading across this planet.

My goal is:
to eventually arrive at
the splendid open moment
when in a blaze of illumination I realize
the incredible force behind the disguise
of all these earthly things.

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© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Her

author’s note:

I often end up cutting my favorites lines:

She will sew me back up
but I must first guide the thread
through the eye of the needle


HER

I write to honor a woman
who hides in full view.

Though I learned of her years ago
and know the value
I often ignore her--so easy to do--
after all, she’s so commonplace.

Whenever I lose her
she merely watches and waits
as the sand leaks from my sack:
she will mend me
but only when
I open to her again.

Some will laugh
at my rhapsody
and claim
they don't need her.
But I’m not fooled--
I’ve known their poverty:

I once tried
to leave her behind
because I thought
I needed to be tough
in order to make this trek
across the desert...

but finally I felt so empty
I had to stop.
Then in desperation
I recognized her again--

I saw her sailing
in a flotilla of clouds
luminous in the sun

then in the cloud shadows flowing
across the brown plain

and as I witnessed
those glorious sights
I felt her strength
surge back into my heart.

At night
she beams down upon me
from the eye of the moon

as I nestle into a boulder
shaped like her hand.

Some meet her by blessed accident:
a burglar opens a window to steal a jewel
but finds a star in a clay jar instead

then allows himself
to experience a perfection
forgotten for too long.

Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

How Humans Learned to Give Thanks

author's note:

Though alone this year, I'm determined to have a happy Thanksgiving.  May you have a happy Thanksgiving too.


HOW HUMANS LEARNED TO GIVE THANKS

Because the first human
was as he was
he ordered the sky
and the oceans
and the rich soil
to give of themselves
so he could live

and they said:

"We are quite mighty
  while he is quite weak
  so we should sacrifice
  to provide what he needs.”

And because the man was as he was
he told the plants and trees
to give of themselves--
he told the lakes and rivers
he told the many creatures

and they said:

“We are quite strong
  and he is quite weak
  so we should sacrifice
  to provide what he needs.”

Unfortunately
because the man was as he was
he just kept taking
without healing the wounds he’d given
to the sky, to the soil, to the many waters--
to the flora, to the fauna

and so that life collapsed from its wounds
and as a result, the man also collapsed.

But then
the man could no longer wound
so the Earth was able
to heal even its worst hurts.

And so
after an agony lasting forty nights
the life of the Earth rose again

which had the effect
of lifting that man back to his feet.

Fortunately
being down on the ground
had changed his point-of-view--
now he sang a different tune:

"Because I am quite small,
  because I am quite weak
  the life of this Earth
  sacrifices for my sake.

"But as I take
  I must give back--
  otherwise

  I am a dead man!”

Since then we humans
are not as we once were--
now, we thank the Earth
for gifts given
and heal that which we wound.

This myth...a story from our future.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
40 New Fables: ebook

Why Should I?

author's note:

Unless someone like you
cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.
It’s not.
        -- Dr. Seuss


WHY SHOULD I?

Why should I act?

Why should I stand?

I can't stop cyclopes
from crushing priceless jewels into dust

which sirens then sell--
denying the high interest rate.

Why speak up?--

if heard, I'll be skunked
by celebrated psychopaths using ill-logic

and many reasonable people
who seem quite congenial
will hang their shadows on me
for no true reason.

I can avoid so much pain
if I brake before I begin

yes but no--
by now, I know:

the frustration
of rising and losing
will feel better than
the malaise of sitting and sinking

after all...

if I stand, I can dance--dance
even as I weep

along with many other dancers

and as we share our tears
we will open
to the comforting soul.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
Survival: poetry ebook