howling winds
unexpected rains
dash water horizontal
the way I remember this valley
in my turbulent youth
and a man has been howling
downtown on the mall
for two days
I've come home
in the ignonimy of winter
at 3 a.m. on the bus
and sick, in such a fever
clouds roiled over the river
full moon behind gauze
like the eyes of a she-wolf
protecting her young
that glittered from a night cave
behind the rending
the dancing, the boiling
the steaming clouds
with rays streaking out
like claws, shining
and there was the snarl
of thunder
I thought all this was behind me
now this wild man, warning
as though he's just whirled out
of the desert, dervish
manic, shrieking gibberish, blind
to me but eyes wide open
to something more real
claps his hands over his ears
the voices, the pain
that will not stop
1 comment:
I am always at a loss to write about poetry. By writing about it, by concretizing associations that it suggests, I feel that I am really destroying it, losing its message.
Perhaps I'll just mention that I can really identify with the comparison between weather and emotions. Especially since I've been meditating, i have noticed that my mind will get into certain states which come and go like the weather. I will build up resentments and anger which cloud my mind for several days, and then dissipate. I will build up self-importance and ego which will cloud my mind for several days and then dissipate. I will become lethargic and unresponsive, and this will linger for several days and then dissipate. Part of Buddhist practice is to see that this is happening and work with it. A common metaphor for enlightenment concerns a cloudy sky. Imagine your thoughts are like clouds in the sky. As you meditate and begin to sweep these thoughts from your mind, eventually a pure blue endless sky is the result. This is your Buddha nature.
In any event, I didn't mean for this poem to be some kind of lead-in to a discussion of Buddha nature. Obviously it is much more than that.
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