Hang On
(Loosely translated from a Sikh fable)
The disciple asked the Guru: O Wise One, how do I enjoy life to the fullest?
The Guru opened his eyes and smiled: Let me ask you a question. How long do you believe you have before you die?
The disciple, a young man in his early twenties, replied: Two, or three, decades at least.
The Guru offered: Try something shorter.
Then the Guru closed his eyes. The disciple pondered the Guru's suggestion, and said: A few years, at least.
The Guru repeated: Try something shorter.
A few months?
Shorter.
Days?
Shorter.
The disciple was worried. Did the Guru know his fate?
Hours?
Shorter.
Minutes, perhaps?
The Guru opened his eyes and said: My child, there is no guarantee that we may exhale the last breath just inhaled. We all hang by a thread.
This made the disciple sad and he asked, almost in a whisper: Does this mean there is no meaning to life? How can one enjoy Life if we're always in the shadow of Death.
The Guru laughed for the first time and replied: On the contrary, this should make you always be present in the moment, and enjoy every breath to its fullest.
My Dance With The Beast
The day I found 666 on my scalp, in the mirror, the number of the beast, like lightning the urges, wantonness... My life made sense. But the sixes were filled, each a mirror image, a quarter note, not the number of the beast, three quarter notes, one measure of a waltz. Like lightning the urges, wantonness... My life made sense: I was born to waltz!
Madness Stalks the Forest of Your Mind
Off the
beaten path.
No street lights,
nature has
embraced you.
Solitude has
been found.
Suddenly,
feeling as if
you’re not alone.
The darkness
becomes palpable.
Shadows embody
subtle movements.
Heart rate increases,
breath quickens.
You begin
walking faster.
Trying not
to panic.
It feels like
something is
following you.
Now what?
Dread sets in,
anxiety starts.
Your eyes
say you’re alone.
Yet your mind
says otherwise.
Footsteps echo
in the growing
silence of the night.
As phantoms dance
in and out
of sight.
Each one becomes
more terrifying
than the last.
The mania
of the mind
begins to manifest
in your vision.
Shaping fantasies,
promoting nightmares.
Your mind is
fatally infected
with the delusion
of paranoia.
Now you begin
to question
your sanity.
It feels like
the entire forest
is watching you.
Are those really
tortured souls
in the trees?
Evensong
There is a whispering wood...
At a breakneck speed,
I am...
Weaving through stacks
Of trees, and tracking
An enigma that can
Not be seen...
...It's calling...
"Are you there?...O, can you hear?...
...For so long I felt your presence
From the back vaults
Of my eyes..."
Now on the hunt
I cannot seem
To upend or to capsize
The ponderous stone
That is
Your dwelling
In this hinterland
Of half-light...
Leave me with a chip or shred!...
Something I'll
Take home to bed...
Saturate me to the bone...
Heed my plea, so I can strive...
7/22/24
Bunny Villaire
Pariah heap - savagely subjecting myself to humiliation
Outward slovenly appearance bespeaks volumes
wordsworth their weight in gold
(exhumed from the pith
of these lovely bones -
beclothed with mottled skin)
presages afterlife of hellish horror
(think Dante's inferno),
nevertheless a respite from earthly torture
wracking mein kampf since conception.
I lived without great expectations
diploid on an impossible mission
set in motion courtesy
triggered pleasure zones,
when natural propensity toward mortality
yielded mutual intense
or paroxysmal excitement
after unbridled love making
between then young parents of mine
approximately circa early/mid April
nineteen hundred and fifty eight.
Begot upon initial cleavage of two gametes
genetic fate decreed upon yours truly,
when nine months later a scrawny boy
traversed thru the birth canal uneventfully
into the hands of waiting obstetrician.
Mother placed me near her bosom,
where I busted thru ample cleavage
nursed courtesy milk of human kindness
until she became high and dry
pacified scraggly baby,
who screamed at the top of his little lungs
possibly linked to submucous palate
split uvula - diagnosed years later
by specialist at Lancaster Cleft palate clinic.
Severe nasality as Aladdin in grade school
linkedin with extreme introvertedness
grist for the role as scapegoat
bully me pronounced
major inferiority complex prevailed.
Suicidal ideation throve
as unhealthy psychological bumper crop:
I cared not a whit for mine body, mind, and soul
negligent hygienic habits - unkempt appearance
abhorred cleanliness, greaseball outlier
videlicet witnessed infrequent visits
to bathing or showering facilities
let hair grow long and ratty, and shaggy
passive aggressive stance
toward family of origin members
sought refuge in mine bedroom
remained metaphorically hermetically sealed
until emerging adulthood
entrenched, fixated, and glued
to aforementioned behavioral traits.
Challenged, piqued, and
tested and tried patience of parents
passed their threshold of tolerance.
Overstayed welcome at 324 Level Road
at the receiving end of hollow ultimatums
browbeaten courtesy damning epithets
fueled glowering hatred, issuing kickass
brickbats, out the mouths of mommy dearest or
papa, silently internalized their vicious wrath.
Smoldering rage within me tamped down
as brilliant comeuppance
did not visit mother on her deathbed,
nevertheless wept profusely
while wailing "I love you" over the telephone,
and every May fourth -
since two thousand and five
crafted commemorative poems,
she always asked
for written acknowledgement
at the least remembering her birthday -
November thirteenth -
from second born and singular son.
No escape from
being called oppressive scatological names,
neither at home nor at school,
and including riding the bus
brutal, short and nasty invectives
assaulted my sensitive eardrums
of course with futility
impossible mission to deflect
blacked banal barbs,
whether besieging me
from so called wonderful,
albeit infuriated parents
continually wounding mine ego,
which pride of self never robust
subsequently such regular
(unleaded) cruelty outsourced to every ogre
witnessed an aggrieved boy
silently pained courtesy
whiplash of words accosting consciousness
submissively accepting battering
haranguing, poisoning, stinging
standing stockstill
forbearance vetting psyche,
the tragedy exhibited
by stoic facade and charade
generating absolute zero responsiveness
from an introverted
anxiety plagued youngster,
who grew up emotionally,
physically and spiritually stunted
scratching out pathetic poetry.
Alone
is deceptive
as that (by-my-self)
is inaccurate
the 'we,' dispossessed
and self, associative
at best ...
my mind's
so far gone
I cannot begin
to say how long
or how come,
save the distance
between my
and self
has become
protracted,
and when it
happened
well
I'd
also like to know
and that thought
will not leave me
(alone)
06.27.2024
Alone challenge @dctezcan