a man crested his hill, he viewed the world around him. never before had he seen such ferociousness.

he was viewing something no souls had ever encountered. he was, for the first time in his life, the first.

he fell to his knees— water crashed below, as the tangles of pine closed in on his frail form.

he believed the world built this view for him, and only him. only— the world built this view for no reason.

the serendipity of the hill he collapsed on was marveled by the man. he wept. alone, in a world only he would ever see exactly as is.

cries to the heavens were silenced. his own drive to rise again fell off the cliff face. he simply watched.

vines creeped up his torso. snakes nestled under his legs. his hair melted with the spring thaw, then washed away with the rain.

his eyes never faded. his mind never dulled. he simply sat and waited. he waited for god to extend His hand.

what else should one do in front of the sublime?

Distant dreams and memories
Lost opportunities it seems
To the things that could have been
Reflecting on the past at half mast
Easier with hindsight to look at what might
A contestable question mentioned
How far do we plan with conviction
Experience paves the way
Flicking through past sections
Sets direction led astray on a page
Which ways do we cultivate
To lead the order of our day

Studying the wrinkled lines
of elder poems
on the topic of
the Four Directions;

however;
the poetics of
haunting bards
and mossy sage
always
spiral
back
to the
acorn of the heart

In this infinity;
a piney cabin
resides
inside a bamboo
forest

and Wonder,
She
sits cross-legged
below the
river rock hearth;
warming her palms
against the
irregular downbeat
of snapping flames

“North, South, West and East;
Trust the Wise Arrows
Aiming True
from Your Heart's
Quiver.”

Connection not Direction

Intelligence is like a compass, in that it allows you to go a specific direction but is only useful in the context of the wilderness that you stand within. Without knowing where you are and where you need to go, a compass will only help you stay the course towards an unknown destination. Wisdom is the map upon which the compass lies. That which gives sustained direction the context it needs to ensure the intended destination is reached.

I climb slowly
gripping each ledge, each pebble
leaping from perch to perch
nearly flying.
Each breath sends chills down my stiff spine.
Each heartbeat drums strong in my fingers.
Each moment moves slowly until it passes,
until it is gone and I must move onwards,
upwards and onwards.
Directionless, I merely climb for ages,
days and weeks and summers pass
essays and applications
money and apartments
endless obligations I halfway want.
I've done what I'm supposed to do.
I don't know what to want,
what I want.
Happiness is to the north, but I dropped my compass years ago.
I stumble in each direction, moving closer, farther.
Still, I climb, clinging tight, promising myself another year.

thinking about the morning
creating a new day
making new memories
changing direction
watching for the past to pass
waiting for the future to arrive

Brian Hill - 2020 # 215