icarus
To:ms_allthat@hotmail.com, loveisarose11@hotmail.com, mystree_1@hotmail.com, lorelis@hotmail.com,
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Subject:icarus
Date: Sat, 30 Oct 1999 14:44:48 CDT
Icarus In Autumn
There is an ocean
Which lies between us
But what of that?
There are leaves beneath my feet
This day as we speak
Of things ending.
But what of that?
I know this
Is but a beginning,
With Spring coiling itself
Upon itself
To once more rise through
The hopeful grass.
Just as I will lift
These ancient wings
And rise like Icarus
Across whatever cruel blue sea
There might possibly be.
Just as I know
The wax must melt,
The feathers fly frantically
Like driven leaves falling
Beneath my feet.
Just as I must fall
Trying with all that is within me
To get to you.
This is what I have:
Feathers, wax, intent,
A driven sense of direction.
I thrust these into the face of the sun
And fly like gasping magic
Flapping, not quite angel,
Not quite done.
~~~~~~~~~
Somehow Saturday has come, limping in, finding me stopping on the bridge, gazing at the lazy
river meandering by. Cloudy, with rain last night beating on the roof, and Monte knocking at
the door and talking of Jeremiah and Isaiah and things beyond understanding. I am the perfect host, a listener, and my mind wanders hither and yon even as his lips move in some drawn-out Monte song. Smile.
Lore writes poetry to me, of tragic fantasies of childhood, of milking a cow, and I am of course thrown back to my own childhood when I milked morning and night by hand, of the cow getting her foot in the bucket, of kicking, of sore tits scratched by thorns, of horns hooking, hard hooves stepping on nutbrown bare feet. I was never into OSHA as a child. *S*
Ned, who I took an instant dislike to yesterday, turns out to be a fine young man after all, and I find myself liking him. Perhaps it's because he is so attentive to my stories and nods his head in all the right places? He, too, knows how to listen, which is such and strange and fascinating thing these days.
I think of Monday, of that hard-cover book coming into my hands, of the Koine Greek spilling across the page all mystical and mysterious looking. How long has this thing been calling to me and is just now coming to birth?
A simple request: please keep yr eyes open for a notebook computer, preferably very cheap, which would be perfect for a Dharma trip. The time approaches when I will need one, so I enlist this small army of eyes to seek, see. Homeless Paul got a lovely beauty of a thing for $400 and he sits by himself now, headphones on, cocooned, alone, distant from the rest of us. I miss him, even if he is but a table or so away. Gone, gone.
One of you wrote that I should write my ex. That does not sing to me just now, but I will give it some thought. My feeling is, why start something back up, the trajectory of which is so known, so plotted, so inevitable? Isn't there a time when sleeping things simply need to slumber on? I will think on this.
And thank you, Dalila, for taking the time to copy out the Icarus imprompu from the Cafe and forward it to me.
Carol in OK, hang in there. It seems to me that the most important thing I can do with *my* life is simply to recognize who I truly am and to be true to that recognition. Perhaps that might also hold true for you. There are many kinds of prisons, and most do not come with bars of iron or steel, but which are just as difficult, at times, to escape from.
Leslie, thank you for writing. My children are all grown, lovely, creative, and they move through this world far more successfully than I did at their age. I think of my son, the Karate Master; my daughter, the Rock Star (well, if I exaggerate a bit who can blame the proud father?), and my other daughter caught within her own poetry of pain. Everything flows, nothing really stands still.
Ms, loved yr poem, girl. Go fer it. Must be radically busy getting the Hold ready, eh?
It's afternoon now here in Lawrence. I feel quiet, at peace. Hope all is well with you. I may add to this later....
Much aloha,
Dickens
