In the village

I am really really wanting to figure this out.  This thing I do. This way I get pulled out into the circle of the people I’m with and lose my own feet. This way my consciousness gets right up and goes and sits on your lap.

I am the fern who grows only into the little space offered by my neighboring ivy and sage.

I am the bright foreign exchange student who knows philosophies with intuitive insight but cannot say “I want a loaf of bread” in English.

I am the small child who knows how to shield his mother from anger but cannot tie his shoes.

I will tell you what I think, then read your face to learn my wisdom.

Was I brilliant or naive tonight?

I am a prophet with him and an empty shell with her.

Where is my own heart and the knowing of things when you stand here?

My mind is looking for the thing it alone obstructs.

I try relating with form where there is none.

There is no this for figuring.

Only coming back here, to where I live.  Alone and amongst all of you.



Filed under life, writing

4 responses to “In the village

  1. holy god, yes. and yes. thank you for this, lg.

  2. This is marvelous. Back to read it for the third time.

  3. I think you are Rumi, reincarnated!
    my dear friend, Rumesa.
    I’ll be reading this one again, many times, too. Being alone among other is always our fate, but to do it gracefully is a joy. We are dancing, alone and together, like the stars in Rumi’s heaven.

  4. Michael

    “… Alone, amongst all of you …”

    This hits me in my Libra Soul.

    Hello Sweet, … am Home (my Second) adjusting …

    Love from the Colour of The Autumn

    All Hail The Sumac and Maple


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s