We Własnych Sidłach

In the darkness of the night, only occasionally relieved by glimpses of Nirvana as seen through other people's windows, wallowing in a morass of self-despair made only more painful by the knowledge that all I am is of my own making ...

When everything around me, even the kitchen ceiling, has collapsed and crumbled without warning. And I am left, standing alive and well, looking up and wondering why and wherefore.

At a time like this, which exists maybe only for me, but is nonetheless real, if I can communicate, and in the telling and the bearing of my soul anything is gained, even though the words which I use are pretentious and make you cringe with embarrassment, let me remind you of the pilgrim who asked for an audience with the Dalai Lama.

He was told he must first spend five years in contemplation. After the five years, he was ushered into the Dalai Lama's presence, who said, 'Well, my son, what do you wish to know?' So the pilgrim said, 'I wish to know the meaning of life, father.'

And the Dalai Lama smiled and said, 'Well my son, life is like a beanstalk, isn't it?

***

Held close by that which some despise

which some call fake, and others lies

And somewhat small

for one so tall

a doubting Thomas who would be?

It's written plain for all to see

for one who I am with no more

it's hard at times, it's awful raw

They say that Jesus healed the sick and helped the poor

and those unsure

believed his eyes

- a strange disguise

Still write it down, it might be read

nothing's better left unsaid

only sometimes, still no doubt

it's hard to see, it all works out

***

Twas a-time at the circus: King Jimi, he was there

Through hoops he skipped, high wires he tripped, and all the while the glare

of the aching, baking spotlight beat down upon his cloak

and though the crowd clapped furiously they could not see the joke

'Twas tea-time at the circus, though some might not agree

as jugglers danced, and horses pranced and clowns clowned endlessly

But trunk to tail the elephants quite silent, never spoke

and though the crowd clapped desperately they could not see the joke

***

In the autumn of my madness when my hair is turning grey

for the milk has finally curdled and I've nothing left to say

When all my thoughts are spoken (save my last departing birds)

bring all my friends unto me and I'll strangle them with words

In the autumn of my madness which in coming won't be long

for the nights are now much darker and the daylight's not so strong

and the things which I believed in are no longer quite enough

for the knowing is much harder and the going's getting rough

***

I know if I'd been wiser this would never have occurred

but I wallowed in my blindness so it's plain that I deserve

for the sin of self-indulgence when the truth was writ quite clear

I must spend my life amongst the dead who spend their lives in fear

of a death that they're not sure of, of a life they can't control

It's all so simple really if you just look to your soul

Some say that I'm a wise man, some think that I'm a fool

It doesn't matter either way: I'll be a wise man's fool

For the lesson lies in learning and by teaching I'll be taught

for there's nothing hidden anywhere, it's all there to be sought

And so if you know anything look closely at the time

at others who remain untrue and don't commit that crime

It's all so simple really if you just look to your soul