CurranPoem

I watch the dance in the torn world Torn between body and soul The body is animal—The soul is so very human The body is flesh—willing to fight for self The soul is something new on earth Emerging out of Earth into uncharted realms Where caring replaces the self And knowing replaces instinct And the soul discovers love—unknown To the animal but he is fascinated Love and lust become mixed  In the new human brain and.... The confusion is immense— Often beautiful—often violent—often both Then they die—but the soul has left its mark In beauty, in words, in images, in things, in love

Sometimes I am stopped dead in my tracks by beauty by something that doesn’t come from within me but something outside of me. Sometimes a sunrise.    I wake before dawn and make coffee and walk out on my back porch.   The sun rises with golden rose touches on the clouds.   I watch.   The sun says “don’t think, just watch” and the sun rises over the ocean, over the mountains and the sleeping city.   I drink my coffee in silence. The sun would rise with or without me. Sometimes a simple blooming lily in the garden next to the building where I live.   Age has slowed me down and I notice things that younger, I would have sped right by.   Its blossom is small but glorious and I pause and bow to beauty surrounded by traffic and horns and people catching the bus. Knowing this flower would bloom with or without me…with or without the people catching the bus. I know it won’t make any difference in their life or mine but sometimes A simple...

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.

There is no church, no synagogue, no mosque, no temple Big enough to hold my faith—I love the solemn spaces— The stained glass windows of the churches, the golden light Of Buddhist temples, the sacredness of synagogues and the Prayerfulness of the mosque but it is the light of the sun which Lights the windows, the voice of the sutras which greets The Buddha, the prayers of devotion in the mosque that I hear Light and voice and spirit and faith are my sacred space In which I worship and the world will try to take it away from you At the bus stop, in traffic, in politics, in the evening news, In failed friendships but the sun shines on all of us and Gravity keeps us all in our place while we work it out

There is 24/7   talk in my head It doesn’t even stop in my dreams It’s part of having a body with a brain It doesn’t stop—even in prayer But during prayer and dreams It at least seems friendly But then the world talk starts again Work, traffic, media, news, and fear Depression, anxiety, apprehension That something has gone terribly wrong I fix a grilled cheese sandwich—my favorite food And listen to old music—“Mother Mary comes to me And whispers word of wisdom-Let it be.” I eat the sandwich and go to bed And dream—Tomorrow has not happened yet And never will—I wake up with no yesterdays. I let it be.

I sit in quiet contemplation, Meditation—serene—centered For once relaxed—at peace The turbulence of the world Is quieted and not bothering me The dark demons who so often Occupy my thoughts have been Sent to the corner to sulk but They wait knowing they will Have their chance to take over My brain and drive me crazy Once again but I have learned To embrace them and ask them What they have to teach me That drives them crazy I tell Them I love them and they Melt