I get so tired of one religion
tearing down another.
It seems so cheap to me -
a protestation better muted
in favor of a simple act of helpfulness.

I am Rip
awakened from a long sleep
finally my eyes opening
to see a new world.

I am planting myself
between eternal hope
and eventual discord

Just some grey occurrence
reflecting the rue of life

The middle way between
the light of day
and the shimmering night.

What a query we have in the night
Its illuminated stare
leaves us more uncertain
The silence of a million stars pervades

It comes to me
on a path yearly worn
yet a path fresh with each step
each breath
each electron sparking through my brain
in its electric searching.

I am alive
yet so small
almost nothing
I am a leaf on a great oak
whose roots reach into the cosmos.

“…how close we are
     to being
     nothing
     most of the time

     and
     for some of us
     nothing all of the time…  - Bukowski: “Meeting Them”


Reading his poem freed me
but bound me to a budding desire
to write
and explore
its roots in a reality
I fear.

How close to being nothing
are we
and is it for eternity
or just a moment?

But just asking the question is liberating
as if I looked death in the face
and just smiled.

How sweet is our time together
falling softly into violin strings
up into sky on mockingbird wings
across piano keys of white and black
where there is nothing I lack
and every moment stretches
across horizons blue and gold
no matter how battered and old
my body of bones and flesh
every minute green and full and fresh.