HE FELL INTO MY ARMS AND SAID
he fell into my arms and said
"sometimes god takes what we love most. he knows best".
i agree.
so I made up something as i buried his grandchildren.
i said, "god wants us to love him unconditionally";
to get too tired to be angry; to love him
the way my friend zorab goes into the niagara gorge
to look for messages in bottles. he hates god, but finds hope.
you get thankful for anything
he doesn't take: breath, sight,
memory, until they're taken. then you're thankful
for death.
such gratitude, taking everything for
granted, your ski-doos, your anger, sorrow;
even fear; you fork
over every feeling to him.
today i am thankful for anything,
even the cold glance of
those who do not love me. it's an experience.
my novice master used to say he couldn't be
hurt anymore. me? i collect every sight and sound i'll
miss in my final moment.
today i buried four children. i don't know what the weeping
was about; i held the
grandfather's head to my own, like a
horrified brother faced with an
unconditional god. it was like holding my own head.
his brain, his love, his faith, my own -- and
doing what we do best -- living in spite of him.
until he opens the screen door and says, come in;
the day of streets and leaves is over.
lay your head to rest, and put away
the likeness of the day.
he fell into my arms and said
"sometimes god takes what we love most. he knows best".
i agree.
so I made up something as i buried his grandchildren.
i said, "god wants us to love him unconditionally";
to get too tired to be angry; to love him
the way my friend zorab goes into the niagara gorge
to look for messages in bottles. he hates god, but finds hope.
you get thankful for anything
he doesn't take: breath, sight,
memory, until they're taken. then you're thankful
for death.
such gratitude, taking everything for
granted, your ski-doos, your anger, sorrow;
even fear; you fork
over every feeling to him.
today i am thankful for anything,
even the cold glance of
those who do not love me. it's an experience.
my novice master used to say he couldn't be
hurt anymore. me? i collect every sight and sound i'll
miss in my final moment.
today i buried four children. i don't know what the weeping
was about; i held the
grandfather's head to my own, like a
horrified brother faced with an
unconditional god. it was like holding my own head.
his brain, his love, his faith, my own -- and
doing what we do best -- living in spite of him.
until he opens the screen door and says, come in;
the day of streets and leaves is over.
lay your head to rest, and put away
the likeness of the day.