4164. MEDITATION Pt. 3 (Connectedness)

KINDLING, Pt. 3

(Connectedness)

The connectedness of all your tissue makes you

live and keeps you running  -  though one thing

is not a thought, the many are. I may serve the slide,

but always  -  out on my horizon  -  the slide's end

awaits. Sensitive hands and a feral heart, that's

always been me. How then, and why, alive? I would

not tell even if I knew, but I sincerely don't. The bread

is rising and it bakes in the oven. The bricklayer is

placing his bricks, and the structure rises.

-

In the evening, boys are parking their cars like

payloads at a launch - things that go, things to travel;

music and a lunchbox, cards and a cue. I may want

to enter on the landing, but I have neither reason nor

ride. We somehow share a place and a planet, and

really that is all. A life like this was no choice of mine.

-

I have taken a wife and run off to someone's wedding;

now isn't that confusing as well? We wait at the village

stream, while some idle woman talks on with her hands,

gesturing here and there in a perfect, sleeveless dress. There

are noises and voices all around; in a place like this

the sun never sets. The red wine is flowing in fountains.

-

The connectedness of all this tissue makes us human  -

we talk, and we too gesture, back and forth. We move

messages and wishes that scatter like the crumbs of a

cake. One thing is not a thought, though the many are -

we mutter 'I love you' and we leave in a car. Mobility

has always been Mankind's dream. Like society with

all its connections unhinged, the major flattery just

goes on : 'How are you?' Or is it better I should ask,

'Who are you?' Either way, the question sticks.

-

Now listen loved one, gleamed pillar of flesh and

desire: all that ever was can be, and is. You have it

all within you. That twitching subject, wounded in the

street, within a pool of blood? I was certain that was me.

Now I am not sure at all. Am I not, instead, the man

becalmed, who will stand where he has ever stood?