DESCARTES AND THE CRAZY MAN

Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning

The world is not what I want it to be

But the world is still the magnificent mystery

In which I am stuck between Plato’s ideals

And Jesus’s Kingdom and Buddha’s Nirvana

And the crazy man at the bus stop

The world—It is in your face. It won’t let you go.

Descartes got it right. Throw it all out. It is all

A bundle of thought knots: concepts—illusions

Birth and death and memory and hope

A dance with realities we don’t understand

You Think: The fact that you can doubt your doubts

Is a clue. There is a you behind the you you think

You are—who loves the ideals, lives in the Kingdom,

Dances in Nirvana and gives the crazy man at the bus stop

A hug—He stares at you thinking you are crazy.

Comments

Buddha Socks

Buddha Socks Days do not number The miss-steps of my soul’s journey Years and decades of seeking and searching Lost and looking—occasionally knowing Only for a moment with certainty Before the trance of daily life and doing the laundry Overshadow insights that would unlock The mystery of socks tumbling in the dryer Socks don’t know emotions— They just know our feet. They wrap our heels and toes unconditionally Paying no attention to the emotions of the moment The funeral, the wedding, another day at work— The socks are just there for us After a day of being very human We take them off and toss them into the laundry Perhaps socks Are the Buddha (I don’t know the original dates on this. It is actually two separate poems which I found in old journals and merged into one poem I luv it…)

Dancing at Funerals

The chimney sweepers come to dance At the funeral of one of them who fell Now free of the soot and dark labor Free to dance—free of soot and poisoned Air free to breathe in paradise while they Return to chimneys—waiting The wives and sisters morn he who brought Food and laughter hugs and love now gone-- Who knows where-- Will the brothers lovers Fill the gap-- Dread and hope feed the wheel That keeps turning in this gray dreary world Where life is a never ending quest Where the dance at the funeral is That birth is just a ticket to paradise

CurranPoem

Search This Blog