Falling
“We’re in a free fall into future. We don’t know where we’re going.
Things are changing so fast. And always when you’re going through
a long tunnel, anxiety comes along. But all you have to do to transform
your hell into a paradise is to turn your fall into a voluntary act. It’s a
very interesting shift of perspective…joyfully participate in the sorrows
of the world and everything changes.” --Joseph Campbell
I.
I don’t grasp the connection between
Gilgamesh and Galileo and Goethe,
you declare in broken, falling words.
Ah, but I was there when Rome became America,
and I’ll be here when it returns.
I can see what’s in between.
For through the smoke of
what you recorded, can barely be glimpsed
the wispy trails of that which
took its fateful place,
but missed the center stage.
And this is where to look,
and this is what you missed.
II.
She walks in timelessness,
free from the prison of Chronos,
a child belonging to the ages.
Lightly stepping over the verdant path
downward to the rushing stream
she invites the current, cold,
to wash over bare feet and legs, slender,
rushing past, water, mother of all.
Reflected in her eyes, this water,
the blue and the black,
once-distinct lines, made imaginary,
blurring and disappearing,
unable to defy the force of that
unto which we all are born,
unto which we all become,
unto which we all return.
Reflected in the water, the sky,
with piercing light, saving and destroying,
creating and burning.
Let there be light.
And Genesis awakens in her.
Falling into all of it, she sees the face
of God, and tries forever to remember it.
It was a million years ago.
It was the day before yesterday.
Memory failing, the loneliness embraces
her, warm and soft as the verdant path.
Across the rushing stream,
she finally lays her body down.
III.
We order another round
at our outdoor cafe,
and I am careful not to notice too obviously
the waitress this time.
Your broken, falling words
rest upon the table with the silverware.
On the sweet summer breeze
two lovers float by
holding hands,
holding worlds.
And I imagine Atlas held no more
than this.
But things held will fall.
Words, and hands, and worlds.
With your smile, I can see.
I can see now.
I can see
who lifts them up again,
reflected in your watery eyes.
.
