When Gods Come Down from the Mountain

author’s note:

Much of what I see tires me.

Fortunately, much of what I see inspires me.


WHEN GODS COME DOWN FROM THE MOUNTAIN

Sometimes a bored god
will put a human into a hypnotic trance
then enter the body and take control
because they want to feel the adrenaline thrill
we feel when we perform a superhuman feat.

Though confined by the small frame
a deity can still lift those without a boat
above the rising waters.
Or stare down a fierce fire at the edge of town.

Then when the rush subsides
at the end of the event
the immortal will return home
to the clouds on the mountain.

The human will then wake in a daze—
feeling hazy about what they’ve just done.

And when praised
they’ll wonder:
How did I do what I did?
Never guessing
a colossal god could ever fit inside them.

They may assume instead
secret potentials lurk within.
And as a result, decide
they should work to realize
their hidden capabilities.

What they accomplish then
will have the effect
of inspiring other ordinary folk
who say to themselves:

if that damn fool can be super
then so can I!

mythsteps · when gods come down from the mountain

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© 2025, Michael R. Patton

The Goat Faun

author’s note:

Hope you’re enjoying the Solstice season.


THE GOAT FAUN

The child inside
has on occasion convinced me:
we can make our fantasy a reality.

Like the time, years ago
when this fool tried to create magic
by going to a forest clearing
and calling to the goat faun
hoping to draw it from the shadows.

I chose that mythic creature
because the faun combines earth and sky
in the way it plays mad melodies
to the moon above
while dancing with nimble skill
through wooded dale
and stream
and hill.

But though I pushed notes
from my reed pipe
for at least an hour
the goat faun did not respond
to my heartfelt summons.

So I added a dance
to enhance my song—
I pranced
and leapt
and did pirouettes
in the moonlight.

But still no goat faun.

In all the years since
the faun has never once
answered my call.
Yet I keep coming back
to the clearing
because
I can feel
just a bit of it in me
whenever I performed that ritual.
By that I mean:
I feel the joy of wild mischief
and experience
a sense of my own deep earth
a sense of my own full moon.

Yes, all I ever get
is just a little bit
but a little bit of magic
is better
than no magic at all.

mythsteps · goat faun

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

An Education in the Cave

author’s note:

Though I’m still pretty dim, recent dreams show me attending college.

So, at least I've graduated from high school.


AN EDUCATION IN THE CAVE

The wise one told me:

when the first gods found the first humans
fumbling around in fog
they decided to brighten the sun.

But to see the truth so suddenly
shocked the humans—
they ran into a cave to hide

then got lost deep inside that dark maze.

A hard life—
stumbling around without light.
But in time, people adjusted.
Incredible as it may seem
eventually, humans forgot they couldn’t see.

But oh—
sometimes we remember
when we collide with a stalactite
or get bitten by a bat

or worse yet
fall into a pit.

Oh yeah, I told the wise one
I’ve known the pain
of the collision—
the toothy sting—
the hard landing.
After so many severe reminders
I’ve devoted my life
to the struggle to see.

Ah yes, the wise one replied:
calamity can awaken
our desire for clarity.

But wise one, I asked
if you’re so bright
why can’t you guide me
out of this dim cavern?

My teacher then gave me
this last insight:

Before I found my light
I felt the same doubt you feel now
so I do what I can to help.
But alas, that’s limited.
The final irony is:

the only one who can lead you
to your light
is that wise one within.

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

The High-Pitched Voice

author’s note:

“Life is woof.”
         -- anonymous dog


THE HIGH-PITCHED VOICE

As I travel this convoluted path
I’m accompanied by a strong dog
that growls when it senses danger.

But if a voice inside then says “go forward”
I’ll force myself to ignore the dog
and accept unreasonable risk

while enduring people
who see my way as haphazard.

Yes, I worry
when the dog begins to whimper in fear
but
a dream once promised me
if I went where I needed to go
no matter where that might be
I’d eventually arrive at a garden.

When I awoke I felt a deep desire
to find that paradise.
But how I could know where I needed to go?
I would not go until I knew.

A voice I did not recognize
then said:
“stand and walk and do as instructed.”

That sudden turn spun my head.
Hooked by mystery and myth--
I decided to trust.
I stood up and began to walk.

Obviously
I haven’t yet found the garden
but now I can see
this twisted path
spirals up a mountain.

So today I still feel
a grand sense of purpose.

Nonetheless
sometimes when I’m led into trouble
I will join with the dog
and bark back at
that maddening high-pitched voice.

mythsteps · The High-Pitched Voice

Common Courage: poetry book
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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

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

When They Analyze Our Funerary Practices

author’s note:

I’ve finally decided on an inscription for my tombstone.  A line from Shakespeare:

“Exit, pursued by a bear.”


WHEN THEY ANALYZE OUR FUNERARY PRACTICES

Millennia from now
archaeologists may deduce
we believed we could
drive our way to heaven

when they uncover that Cadillac casket.

Or when they excavate
the burial mound
of a forgotten ancestor
who apparently thought
that half-ton truck
would transport him
to another realm.

To those prospectors I would say
the assumption you’ve made
is valid in this way:

some of us did indeed try to find paradise
behind the wheel of a vehicle.

Yes, they chose the wrong mode.
But if you are human
I’m sure you’ll understand
the drive that drove them:

that persistent desire
to ascend to bliss.

Butterfly Soul: 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 Original Wound

author’s note:

Though Eden is lost
its loveliness
remains in the heart
and the imagination
         -- Mary Oliver


THE ORIGINAL WOUND

According to this myth:
our problems first began
when the first human being
felt confused because
it sensed it was more than one.

Unable to resolve that tension
the human then split in half
and one half went East
while the other half went West.

Perhaps you’ve already guessed
the happy ending:

eventually
both halves will meet
halfway around the globe
and recognize their missing part
then join together again.

But no—
the resolution won’t be so simple
because

as it walked, the East half felt
the same inner tension
felt by its parent
and so
soon tore apart
and one half headed North
while the other half headed South.

The West half also felt that tension
and so
quickly broke in half
and one half walked North
while the other half walked South.

Following that pattern
those four halves soon became eight
and then those eight became sixteen
and then…well, you get the idea.

Because we can’t accept all we are
we keep breaking apart

and because those losses feel so painful
we keep searching
for something that might heal us:

at first, a thing might seem to be
the exact right thing
but in time, we discover
it’s not the thing
that can make us whole again
and then the wound weeps even louder.

I believe this myth explains why
you seemed so perfect
when I first met you:

in you I saw the thing
I felt to be missing—
the thing could make my life whole.

And you saw the same thing in me—
I seemed to fill a void
and for a moment at least
you didn’t feel that sense of loss.

But our mistake was blessed one:
it brought the two of us together

and as we’ve struggled to return
to that garden we first knew
we’ve looked deeper into ourselves
and in the process
discovered many parts we’d missed.

I don’t know if our union will hold

but by working to repair the break
we’ve both become more whole
and in that way help to heal the wound—

a cut that first began
when the first human being
couldn’t resolve the first conflict.

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Small Gods of the Mountain

author’s note:

Can I get a witness!


SMALL GODS OF THE MOUNTAIN

The old ones told us children:

gods lived on the mountain outside town
but we couldn’t see them
because the clouds shrouding the peak
hid them from sight.

However
if we really tried
we could sense their presence
despite the distance--
the old ones told us.

But though I made the effort
I could not feel
any higher spirits lurking
behind the clouds
of my paltry mundane life.

Finally, one morning
I decided I must defy the taboo
and set out to climb that mountain--
hoping to find those gods
and receive a blessing
that would fill my empty heart.

But far from the top
I got lost in the wet fog--
rasping for air
I sat down in defeat.

Only then did I notice the wildflowers--
softly small
yet they thrived
in that gray rock.
In the bone-chill.
I witnessed their strong spirit--

and when we see spirit
don’t we then see god?

Now
when I feel the need
for the healing blessing of beauty
I’ll often steal away to visit
those gods of many colors
that ignite the mountainside.

finding Beauty: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Feeling the Stone

author’s note:

“Turn!  Turn!  Turn!”
        -- Pete Seeger (via Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)


FEELING THE STONE

As a child
when my vexed head began to spin
I was told:

“Don’t worry:
 you’re merely feeling the rotation
 of a giant stone that turns beneath our world.”

I was told:
“Without its strong foundation
 we’d all fall down
 through the dark void of space.”

Desperate for stability
I decided to believe in the stone
but

as an adult I began to doubt
as I witnessed
buildings toppling--crumbling
from mounting forces of stress
as our world speeded up.

To those who still believed
in the power of the stone
I said:
“If that thing truly exists
 it must want to destroy us.”

As I lost my belief
I lost my equilibrium again

and as I felt myself falling
I hunkered down deep
to protect myself from total collapse

but down within I found quiet
and in that stillness, I could feel
a millstone
going round and round.

But though it spun
that big rock provided
a foundation for me
as I built back my strength.
Even so, I told the stone:
“I’d feel a lot more stable
 if you’d just stop turning.”

To that complaint
I swear I heard a silent whisper say:
I’m working to help you all.
Do you really want to remain
so fragile?
Do you really want to stay
so small?

Searching for My Best Beliefs: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Only a Fool Argues with Stone

author’s note:

I learned the way I often learn: the hard way.


ONLY A FOOL ARGUES WITH STONE

Long ago a clever storyteller saw
the features of a human face
on the gray stone of the bluff
overlooking the bend in the river

then invented the tale
of the wise woman spirit
who sees all who pass as her children
and warns them with an echo:
steer away from the rocky shore.

A legend we love because
both young and old
want to feel protected by Mother.

Many of those who canoe
down the river today
will slow their paddles at the bluff
and ask that stone sage for guidance.

And the ones who truly listen
may discern an answer
buried within
the distorted amplification
booming back across the water.

I’ve known people who refused to accept
what they needed to do
until they heard the woman of stone say:
you know the truth.

But you need not travel to our river
when burdened with a question.
I say:
wise stone spirits can be found
all over this planet

and if we approach with reverence
they will tell us
what we need to know--
even if they don’t echo
we can hear their thoughts
if we quiet our hearts.

I myself have sometimes received
an answer of truth
from a cliffside or a boulder
or even a rock in the sand.

And though I often want
to reject that wisdom
I don’t because I’ve learned:

only a fool
argues with stone.

Listening to Silence: poetry book
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

The New Sisyphus

author’s note:

I believe this new version of the Sisyphus myth to be more accurate than the one from Ancient Greece.


THE NEW SISYPHUS

An inner drive of mysterious origin
goads this goat
to climb a mountain
every blessed day.

Dizzy with these heights
I try to create some stability
by seeing my world clearly--
I try to take it all in

and as I digest
I am well nourished.

So I don’t feel discouraged
in the morning when I wake to find
one more peak to climb.

Yes, I must start at the bottom
but that base rises from the summit
of the mountain I just surmounted.
Thus, I’m making progress.

Howeverv sometimes I feel so tired.
In frustration, I may then announce:
I just might stop right here right now.

Not merely a wish--
I know the gods would allow me.
I do have free will.

But I also know:
if left unfed
this drive would try to satisfy its hunger
by devouring the one
who sat down in defiance
and said
“I have seen enough.”

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

We Are The Sun and The Moon

author’s note:

I’ve never been cool.

But I have learned how to simmer.


WE ARE THE SUN AND THE MOON

As a child, The Sun God
played with burning coal
and in his gleeful carelessness
set his long hair ablaze.

Every day since that day
he’s run across the sky in ecstasy--
a gold flame illuminating his brain.

But though his light grows our crops
sometimes in his excitement
he allows his fire to rage too hot
and in the thrill of the moment
he’s able to ignore the pain in his skull

nor does he see
the swaths of black ash he then leaves
all across the Earth.

At the end of those over-heated days
he sinks down in exhaustion
and at rest in his ashes
he finally feels the wound in his head.

Then when his sister (The Moon)
sees him suffering
she feels her love again

and as her tears fall
to soothe his pain
her reservoir goes
from full to lean.
But then fills back up again

because she draws from a river
of endless goddess empathy.

The Sun God and The Moon God
show us who we are--
just as all gods do.
But unlike them
we have free will--
our tracks need not be ruts:

we can see our mistakes in their mad actions
then choose to change the way we roll.

Bear witness:
the story above helped me see
this obvious fact:
   though the fire in my mind
   sometimes gives light,
   I can burn myself (and others)
   when I rage too hot.

But if I can keep my blaze at even flame
I’ll no longer need
to bathe my wounded head at night.

Perhaps then I can use
the river of my empathy
to help soothe other heads
burned by their own rage.

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
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© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Shopping in the Labyrinth

author’s note:

"Time is money."
        -- Anonymous


SHOPPING IN THE LABYRINTH

According to a recurrent dream
I'm traveling through a labyrinth

but unlike those described
in myths and legends
this passageway leads me
through the halls
of an average shopping mall

with countless bright stores
offering every sort of thing
except what I seek.

Not that I know
what that is--I only know
I haven't found it yet.

But I don't feel defeated--
I'm still eager to explore--to see
what waits next door down.

Maybe these dreams show how
I’m gathering information.
Even when I don’t buy what I see
I can find another piece of the puzzle
just by stopping to look

and if I collect enough pieces
I may be able to fill in the spaces--
I may see “the big picture”:
the grand design of this life.

A woman I met on a bus
told me she also shops
in her dreams...maybe
everyone does--maybe
we’re all trying to discover
the beautiful design in
what appears to be chaos.

In any case
this much is obvious:
we were made to shop.

The Truth of the Dream: poetry book
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

The Phoenix Relaxes Before Rising from the Ashes

author’s note:

I feel I’m living in a phoenix country...but maybe I’m living in a phoenix world.


THE PHOENIX RELAXES BEFORE RISING FROM THE ASHES

I am the phoenix bird
and I’m here to tell you a secret:
after each crash
I enjoy a short break
before rising from the ashes:

a part of me just wants to relax--
why fight
if no victory can ever be final?

But though I find comfort
in the soft gray nest at first
soon, I start to feel dull and dim

and so, begin to work
to rekindle my fire--
by now I know how.

And when I’m able to fly away
I’ll tell myself what I tell myself
every time I rise up:
be careful not to burn too hot.

Maybe someday I’ll obey
that wisdom within me--
though I may not feel
the same fiery thrill
at least I won’t crash.

But I wonder--
do I secretly desire
that archetypal drama?

33 1/3 New Fables & Myths
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Storm Ritual

author’s note:

“Splish splash!”
           –- Bobby Darin


STORM RITUAL

Why didn't I run
from those stallions of storm clouds
rushing toward me
over the grassland of the valley?

Obviously I felt compelled
to wake my sleepy head
but maybe I was also held
by this secret wish:

to stand naked
and let the god of lightning
blast apart the stubborn fist
that binds my heart—
a block resistant to my persistent pleas
for freedom.

And maybe I opened my arms
to the cold merciless rain
because my dreams keep telling me:
wash yourself clean.

Whatever the deeper reasons may be
I can say for certain
the silly child I still am
found joy in the splashing dance

and as sunlight followed storm
I instantly instinctively felt hope—
for a moment, quiet ecstasy freed my heart
as the rainbow arc
joined one mountain to the other mountain
across the valley.

Finally, a ritual has elicited
the heightened sense of reality I seek.
But I must find a safer way
to reconnect with my truth.

If I don’t
deep need may drive me
to again stand and say
come on
next time I see stallions of storm clouds
rushing to wash me down.

myth steps blog
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Myth from a Man Adrift

author’s note:

I recently heard an interview with a poet who said he’d decided not to use metaphor.  Ever.

To that I say: if there’s an ocean raging inside me, I’m going to tell you there’s an ocean raging inside me.


MYTH FROM A MAN ADRIFT

Our conflict began
when the first cell
--maddened
   by all the forces within
   struggling for expression--
broke in half.

The two cells born from this breakage
then jockeyed for position--
both wanted to rule.
The heat of their friction
caused each to boil then break
and when they broke they broke
in half.

So then there were four
which only increased the fever of conflict.
Soon, the four split into eight
then that eight split into sixteen--
thirty-two--sixty-four--
on and on and on it went.

As we fought one another
temperatures rose steadily.
Nonetheless, we would not stop.
And so, we kept on splitting.

As a result
today the oceans swell and swirl with heat--
waters out of control devour the shore.
I believe in short time, we’ll be overwhelmed--
--unmoored--adrift--no land in sight.
We’ll lack stable points of reference.

In the sea
you might think you’re stationary
as you bob up and down
only to discover one day
you’ve gone hundreds
or even thousands of miles.

You don't tell the current what to do
the current tells you:
so be prepared for your ego to erode.
I say so because I know--
I floundered for years.

Searching for stability
I began to expand my feelers
downward and upward
but also outward
through the waters--

I can now I feel my feelers connecting
with the feelers
of myriad others also drifting--
also stretching--also searching
for connection.
This network could eventually unite us all
as we try to keep ourselves afloat
over the ruins of a sunken world.

I believe our hearts

will all beat in-synch then.
We’ll be back where we began:
we’ll know ourselves to be one.

But of course, the original cell
wasn’t really at peace with itself.

What will we decide to be
when the waters cool?--
when the oceans subside?--
when we’re back on solid land?
Will we begin to split apart again?

Or will we each
work to make peace
with all those forces of life
stirring and struggling inside
the human heart?

myth steps blog
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© 2022, Michael R. Patton

The Real Reason I Visited the Great Pyramid

author's note:

Full disclosure:

My “trip” to Egypt was the Great Courses lecture series “History of Ancient Egypt” presented by Dr. Bob Brier.


THE REAL REASON I VISITED THE GREAT PYRAMID

In the photograph I’m smiling
under my big floppy hat

while that massive monolith
looms in the background.
Darkened by afternoon shadow
the tomb puts a capital "D" on Death.

But though
the silly tourist appears oblivious
in the photo
I now realize I did indeed feel
that indomitable weight
behind me--
beneath my travel tour giddiness
I secretly experienced
a mix of fear and wonder.
The response, automatic.

Yes, a wise design--
those ancient Egyptians
built the pyramids
not just for the egos of their pharaohs
but to remind all
of the ever-present mystery.

Now, millennia later
they ask me to deepen
to what I try to ignore
as I frolic about
in my floppy tourist hat.

you tube channel
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33 1/3 New Fables & Myths: ebook
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

The Wise Mountain Lake

author’s note:

Is it any wonder Bigfoot doesn’t want to deal with us?


THE WISE MOUNTAIN LAKE

This watchful lake tells me:

“long ago
  the deity we call 'Heaven Mountain'
  opened its heart to catch the rain
  so that I could be the cup I am
  and comfort people
  when they surrendered
  and begged for my help on bended knee.”

Yes, the lake and I both know
impersonal geological forces create lakes

but the lake and I also know
why I’ve returned to its shore.

And so
I lower to my knees, as before
and the lake begins to heal me.

What I Learned While Alone: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

Great Silent Mystery

author's note:

“Exploring the silence gives poetic thought birth.”
         -- Pao Hsien (trans. Paul Hansen)


GREAT SILENT MYSTERY

As the story goes...

when our ancestors felt the mystery
of a tree or river
or mountain
or creature
they wanted to talk to it
and learn what it was

and so began to drum.

Whatever sound echoed back
then became the name
of that bounder, beast, or shrub.

But after all the many things
had been named

the people sensed the presence
of one final mystery--

a mystery unseen--

a mystery everywhere all the time.

However
this mystery would not
answer our ancestors
no matter how hard
they banged their drums

so finally they stopped
to listen
to determine the nature
of an essence so strange.

The people then heard
the silent mystery resounding
throughout the stillness
--dominating earth and sky--
all the named things suddenly
lost their names
because everything became part
of that great mystery.

Those folks even began to feel
the unnamed mystery within themselves
and then, anxious to preserve their identity
they returned to drumming
and felt comforted by the noisy distraction.

But whenever
they felt dull in their days
they’d stop

to listen to the silent mystery

until they became overwhelmed
once more.

At this point in my walk
I feel the need to stop
because I sense something missing--
I’m tired of all these things around me--
tired of all the words, the names.

So I’m trying to regress--
I’m trying to shut up long enough
to feel the power
of the great silent mystery

not to escape life, but to know
the life within everything

and know the life--feel the life--
within me, once more.

cutting artichoke stalks – slow TV
© 2021, Michael R. Patton