Look . . . I’ve lost hold
my footing has given way
I fall in the tumbling rage
falling further from my comforted home
sinking into the oblivion of life
I can neither see nor feel
my bearings . . . but where can it be?
I’m at a loss
drifting in the cascade of confusion it comes to me
the longing of want, the craving:
great me this day sweat yearning, making me whole
there as I drift into the abyss
but my predicament catches up with me . . . my orientation has gone amiss
I find myself revolving head over foot without control
. . . a tumbler in life
images fade, people fade
things . . . objects . . . take on a nothingness lustre
I . . . me . . . have become nothing
oh, the horror of this state
not knowing my life, my way
surely, I have only one friend and companion – my comforter
as I lift up my gaze, it stands so serene, so sure
undaunted, timeless, without hope, without despair
there it stands!
do you not see?
do you not feel?
. . . the longing life . . . embrace me!
let your caressing fingers surround me
hold me with firm disposition
. . . the passionate life . . . hold me!
keep me in your sight
don’t forget me
There I see the truth
I can feel its fact gripping my throat, choking my voice: I am speechless!
there in the tumbling nothingness, here without being
my comforter stands pure like an unravelled flower petal
waiting to spill forth its might
yes! passion of life . . . yearning!
but, yet, my hands, they grasp at nothing
my eyes, they see nothing
my senses, they are naught
delighting in the passion, I curse its night
in the blackness, dark, serene
. . . I sit . . . tumbling in the abyss
a great inner outrush cries out: my voice speaks!
“curse you, the night of passion!”
“curse you yearning . . . I tumble endlessly!”
“curse you, I say!”
but . . . oh . . . I am overwhelmed . . . perplexed
a confusion unravels in my inner depths:
I yearn for the yearning that tosses me into darkness
. . . my great love . . . why do you torment me?
such irony, such confusion, I can neither tell this from that
black has become white and white has become black
oh, but more: white is neither white, black is neither black
and, still, more: white and black . . . they’ve ceased to be
nothing is as it is . . . a world of utter confusion!
. . . I tumble into the abyss of life . . . I’ve lost hold in the darkness
and, sitting in the horror of the darkness, I know: only the yearning is pure
(This unrhymed descriptive reflection is about the dilemma that experiencing the ‘passion for life’ or ‘yearning’ can cause. This ‘passion’, this ‘yearning’, consists of a thing that is separate in itself, removed from other things. As a result, experiencing it can “remove” one from the world and the sense of self. I know, from my own personal experience, and in watching others, that many of us mistake this sense for a feeling of being lost or confused in life. In other words, we think its a problem, but its not. In actuality, we are becoming closer to life, embracing it more. Isn’t it weird how we mistake the experiencing of life as an ailment?)