Clues

Imagine that you were transported to a world where everything around you seemed improbable. Where what you saw and what you heard seemed distant and alien. Where both your sorrow and your happiness felt bizarre and unexpected, and unexplainable. You would look around yourself, at all the things you were doing and that were happening to you, and you would wonder if they were actually occurring, or whether it was all just a product of your imagination, a beautiful or horrible dream.sidewalk

So you would search for clues, some kind of confirmation that this was really happening. You would search for words on a page, the touch of a stranger, the knowing look in another’s eye that would say to you “Yes! I feel it too—I am experiencing what you are experiencing. You are not alone in this strange and bizarre world.”

And you would never rest—no matter how weary you became, or how many obstacles you faced—until you found the evidence that what you were seeing and hearing and feeling were real.

Because you would know that if you ever came to believe it wasn’t real—that none of it ever really happened—then you would invalidate your experience. You would invalidate your very existence. You would cease to be an individual and would forever doubt the reasons why you ever lived at all.

Do not deny the improbable.  It may be all you have.

A Welcome Poem

Note: I don’t consider myself a poet, but occasionally I write something that I rather like. So, to start things off, I thought I’d share one I wrote recently. It doesn’t have a title.

You close your eyes
And bury your face
You shut the windows to the soul
To keep too much from getting in, and too much getting out
You place your face in the soft,
            the human,
                     the humus
You cover it to hide it,
                               to let it open
To find the moment when it all feels real, two opposites
                 so close, mixed and free
That the burst is a bloom that arises from the burial.