under the tulip tree

The loss of certainty
After so many years of absolute conviction,
Gone missing.

Lost your balance, lost your bearings,
You have pulled back into yourself
For the most part.

You are intact.
You have not compromised your principles.
You do not regret your life’s work.

The world is not turned upside down,
It’s more like some inside out changed topology.
Cautiously you feel your way.

You are a strong yet delicate person.
You are patient, letting your new life unfold.
It will come to you.

“I’m optimistic” you say
And for good reason.
You are an activist.

You make change.
You know how to do this.
Apply what you know to your own life.

religiosity

If you go to a weekly meeting where all the like-minded congregate,
If you have a revered leader and a hierarchy of authority,
If your mission is to transform earth into something heavenly,
Who would suggest that’s not religion?

I’m not interested in whether you worship a deity.
That’s not the point.
The fervor is about changing people, changing society,
Changing the individual purpose.

What is the one true religion?
If God is an anthropomorphic construct,
Humans place themselves at the center of the universe.
Sectarian strife is the opposite of humility.

What is so important about our dominion over the earth?
In the long run it is an illusion.
In the short run most everyone and everything gets exploited,
Even as illness pervades our fouled nest.

Religion is everywhere.
Look at the temple motif of banks and theaters
And the grand railroad stations full of majesty
And the sports stadium pilgrimage destination.

I do not begrudge anyone their community.
I myself enjoy a ball game crowd and the drama of the contest
And feel a certain reverence like in a museum
Visiting the great buildings of the past.

I have learned a lot over the years.
Experience is the best teacher.
And what I know best is that I don’t know much.
There is no shame in saying “I don’t know.”

self help circle

Like sharing in a self help circle
Speaking in the first person
Looking inward
Striving for honesty and humility

My words may speak to you or not.
What matters is that I dare to do it and care not how you judge me.
But looking inward is not at all the whole story.
Caring what goes on in the world counts big time.

I do not aspire to the poetry of self alone.
I call that a false identity in isolation.
The circle is a shared experience.
Meeting together provides support.

The world out there shapes our lives.
Our experience is not just biology and humanity.
Private property is not natural law.
The suffering of the poor is not necessary.

I have wanted to write a political poetry.
Is that a contradiction in terms?
Everyone with eyes sees the destruction of the planet.
How are we going to stop this?

Joe Hill at his execution said:
“Don’t mourn, organize!”
So heroic and yet the IWW failed
And the historical outcome is de-industrialization.

Gandhi exemplified the non-violent struggle
But mass movements heave forwards then subside
Like waves crashing on the beach
As the tide of human history ebbs and flows.

For each of us it begins with what we control.
The personal is political. Do you live by the golden rule?
That’s a start. Do you do community service work?
That’s helping to make the world a better place.

In the next life

The meeting room so familiar more than 30 years ago,
Not seen in half my lifetime,
Not given much thought all those years,
You are there in that room but I don’t know you.

Now I am remembering the youth gathering there
Thinking of you being there living your separate thread.
You were college age and single.
I was nearer 30 and father of an elementary schoolchild.

The women there were impressive in every way.
You are one of those women.
Many a time I have mused what if I were paired with one of them.
I am excited to re-meet you, hopeful we will like each other.

For us our encounter is a bit of meeting in the afterlife.
I dropped away after 5 years, moved out of town, working overtime.
You were devoted to the cause for 30 years, loyal and true.
And now you are moving on to the next life.

I awake this morning in the cabin next to the brook in full flood
With the rushing, roaring waterfall sound to center me
And I remember the Key Martin cabin near Stamford.
Did you ever spend a night there?

It’s not so far from here, also on a brook
On the West Branch near the headwaters,
Filling the New York City reservoir system
On its way to Trenton and Philadelphia.

Having a cabin like this was a boyhood fantasy.
Now this is real, this is so special,
Infused with the kinetic energy of the brook.
Having a companion like you is my adult fantasy.