Sep 2020
Eastern Shore
How many poems have I penned
Of this same sunset scene?
What drives my muse to sacrifice
At this altar again?
Lies there some ancient meaning here
That my poor words forsake?
Why do I gasp in awe-filled gaze
Across the mirrored lake?
The last of light flees up the trees
From water into green
And grabs my soul all unawares
And speaks of in between.
Of how there is no certainty,
No solid place to stand,
The only constant, constant change-
How all is shifting sand.
I beg the dying light not leave
I beg the sun stand still
I beg Time’s sands not sift through sieve
I beg Kali not ****
All those prayers go unfulfilled
The night swallows the day
The golden light that each leaf thrilled
Must Hades’ curse obey
Yet as I rage for light I lack
For all the beauty gone
I see a palette of pure black
To paint Orion on
What peace from knowing nothing’s staid
What consecrated bliss!
False idol Permanence betrayed
By sun’s last Judas kiss.
How many poems have I penned
Of this same sunset scene?
What drives my muse to sacrifice
At this altar again?
Lies there some ancient meaning here
That my poor words forsake?
Why do I gasp in awe-filled gaze
Across the mirrored lake?
The last of light flees up the trees
From water into green
And grabs my soul all unawares
And speaks of in between.
Of how there is no certainty,
No solid place to stand,
The only constant, constant change-
How all is shifting sand.
I beg the dying light not leave
I beg the sun stand still
I beg Time’s sands not sift through sieve
I beg Kali not ****
All those prayers go unfulfilled
The night swallows the day
The golden light that each leaf thrilled
Must Hades’ curse obey
Yet as I rage for light I lack
For all the beauty gone
I see a palette of pure black
To paint Orion on
What peace from knowing nothing’s staid
What consecrated bliss!
False idol Permanence betrayed
By sun’s last Judas kiss.
Many years ago in my bookstore meanderings, I ran across a book by Alan Watts titled The Wisdom of Insecurity. It blew me away with its explanation of how the thing we worship (permanence) is a false god and how the thing we fear (impermanence) is the necessary ingredient of all true peace and happiness. Like all spiritual truths, this insight is often lost in the distractions of everyday existence and must be regained through spiritual practice. I'm not very disciplined so I don't do well with practice, but I do enjoy wild nature. Things like forest bathing or sitting alone by a secluded lake hidden in a wild old forest. Sometimes the beauty of nature will shock you into this truth about impermanence without the effort of practice. That's what happened here.
