Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Bones In A Glove
Some things we can lose and replace--but usually not a glove. A glove is one of a pair, and when it's lost the other's useless. Which is worse: to be the lost glove, or the one left behind? Either way--loneliness...
just one glove lost pointless without the other searching for a hand it's useless now yet still wants to serve two gloves together meet a need make a difference every finger slips snugly into its fleecy pocket each hand sports its own mini parka but the lost glove -- fallen into a dark corner of the closet absently dropped on the sidewalk left behind in a theater seat -- it has no meaning no future no hope
many people are like this lost glove no matter how hard they try or what they do it's already too late they've plunged through the ever-widening cracks in our splintered world with seven billion souls now and more on the way how could it be otherwise? think of all those who never have a chance children battered or abandoned babies born only to starve I'm not a lost glove like these but I might have been
we should be careful with our gloves we should be careful with each other the worst thing is to be created for a purpose we can't fulfill I long to discover the reason for my existence -- why I seem made to offer a hand of compassion of service and belonging if you wear the glove that matches my own for even one day or just a lifetime we'll suffer that much less loss savor that much more love
Our bones are with us every second of our lives, and last long after our deaths, yet most of the time we're hardly aware of them. How would I be--who could I be--without my bones?
even while still wearing this suit of threadbare skin some days I feel peeled right down to bare bone as if time and eternity played dice for my soul I live splayed in those cross hairs now at the bull's-eye of exacting transformation once unconsciousness was my sandbox I conjured such intricate castles in the air! but they've all been swept away what's left are just these blabbing bones
yet a bone has beauty meaning purpose it endures and witnesses -- a gleaming link in the stringent architecture of the cosmos no more disguises no more costumes only an austere purity where form and function fuse as one I hanker for what's lasting what reconnects me to verities unmutilated by fashion money fame pettiness I'd rather be a simple bone than a cunning fomenter of complication
my skeleton keeps whispering reminding me to make each hour count to manage carefully this infinitesimal kink in space and time do you hear your own bones crooning their insistent song? don't ignore them listen and learn grow and change your bones are saying there's another Reality one deeper and wiser than you know