What is the meaning of all this,
Why are we here.
Why am I here.
Let's get down to it.
It’s simpler than anyone thought.
It’s not an inscrutable game,
A cosmic battle for every last soul.
All you have to do is look.
Pay attention to everything that is.
The cobwebs in your closet
This spinning electric ceiling fan
The cool smoothness of clean bowls in the morning
Flowers wilting in Indian summer heat.
How could they exist without you?
Find an empty room, a vast fall field
Of long grasses and Queen Anne's lace.
Seek out the the abandoned places
Where things can only be as you see.
It’s up to you to bring them all alive.
This is no time for dwelling on your silly life
And all the illusory railings in your mind.
It’s time to stop looking inside
The emptiness of imaginary boxes.
Name and catalog all the rest;
Mammals, bones, moods,
The varieties of rain and snowflakes and socks.
Even tears will wink with gratitude.
Here’s a marching row of dutiful ants
Black squirrels scratching up trees
Whisperings of September breezes.
Who but you is there to translate?
Your life is its own esoteric fluency.
Eventually you’ll find it---
Bold strategy or fate
Or blind stumbling luck.
You'll find it in the
Quiet dark places,
In the unmarked forests without paths.
It doesn't try to hide.
So don't give up
Keep conjuring that world
And you’ll narrow it down
To a few things that you
Can’t stop gazing at;
That girl you must love
The young boy you will guide.
They’ve been watching out for you
This whole goddam time.
There’s your answer.
That’s why you’re here;
You’ve already been seen.
Post a Comment