Said a man once from a motored caravan,
You are a fool.
Said I,
Perhaps. But in this, life is to me but one side of the coin; the other is death, and both are formed of experience, the one of this world, the other of the next. I am here without all that is necessary for a sure survival not by choice; but finding myself here I will not go back into those lands behind me, where men and women live in desperation, in servitude, in blindness. Not until I have passed through will I meet them again, and then only of necessity. And if I fail in my crossing, what of it? My bones will bleach here in the naked sun and the naked earth; the wind will scour them, and the sands will cover them, until at last they become one with the soil of the desert. My soul will be the same as it ever was, universal, eternal, one and separate from all things that are, existence. And my mind will be let go, in the doing of something great, and in the realization of it's place in the oneness of existence. That is enough. That is all.
daydreaming
even here there is
perhaps a cutting edge
The section of prose in this haibun is, as you might expect, both from its subject and from the haiku beneath it, a fictional account. Therefore the nature of this haibun must perforce be relegated to the category of "a desk work"; a piece of writing which has little or no basis in actual reality. However, in the time in which this imagining came to me, it seemed then that it would constitute a disservice to my Self, if I did not follow it through, and set it down in some coherent form and meaning. So if it is not based in actual reality, still perhaps it may have at least some connecting anchor to it, some form of reality, of understanding, which transcends the bounds of thought. Thus, the haiku. So ends the length of my justifications.
