on a recent excursion into a wooded area, Laney and i had an idea to both write a poem that began “here, in the shade of the trees.”
so here’s mine, ‘cause i was trying to sleep and got inspired! yeaaa!
here, in the shade of the trees,
we steal away from the bastard sun.
we tuck and roll, lost in a cloud of clarity.
like herbal magic, all that stress comes undone.
we gaze blankly at the forest
around us, enamoured.
glad that these trees won’t be planks
waiting to be hammered.
this is no place for destruction!
this is where the trees grow unchecked.
so we sit in the dirt, barefoot, and marvel
all the martyred leaves that collect.
we move lazily along the trail,
settling into a new nook,
it’s marginally different here,
but still a page from the same book.
under these swaying giants,
we find the solace we seek.
we come to ponder our own ineptitude,
growing weak by the week.
something about the glittery footpath
reminds us of the reason we come and hide.
away from the rhyme and reason
into a wonderland of mixed up shade and light.
what is it about the open air of society
that urges us to shy away into the shade?
likely a myriad of concerns plague us all,
possibly even a bed that’s never made.
it’s so much deeper than that.
a truly molecular connection.
i’m the very same as those trees,
but with an alleged sense of direction.
it all comes back to the earth — all of it.
every second we live, whether we like it or not,
will inevitably lead us back to mommy earth.
to that special, just-for-you place to rot.
i wrote this. :)
sometimes i double reblog my own shit. is that vanity or marketing? ;)
the game we play
is let’s pretend.
we choose to
who we are
and then forget
who are we, really?
Sai Weng Shi Ma
“There is a very famous Taoist story – I love it tremendously. The story is about
an old Taoist farmer whose horse ran away.
That evening the neighbors gathered to commiserate with him since this
was such bad luck. He said, “Maybe.”
The next day the horse returned, but brought with it six wild horses, and
the neighbors came exclaiming at the good fortune. He said, “Maybe.”
And then the following day, his son tried to saddle and ride one of the wild
horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. Again the neighbors came to offer
their sympathy for the misfortune. He said, “Maybe.”
The day after that, conscription officers came to the village to seize young
men for the army, but because of the broken leg the farmer’s son was
rejected. When the neighbors came in to say how fortunate everything had
turned out, he said, “Maybe.”
This is the attitude of a man who understands what is accidental and what is
essential. The accidental is always ‘maybe’; it is a ‘perhaps’. You cannot be
certain about it, you need not be certain about it. People who become certain
about the accidental are going to be frustrated sooner or later; their certainty is
going to create much frustration for them. Their certainty will create expectations,
and they cannot be fulfilled – because the universe is not there to fulfill your
expectations. It has its own destiny. It is moving towards its own goal. It does not
care about your private goals.”
(possibly the most brilliant prose i have ever read, fyi)