I'm Still Hungry, The Smell Of Cold Rain

Shape shifting again. I ask about changes from yet another perspective. This changing stuff is big stuff, no? Really want to change? Well, probably not, since I go kicking and screaming into so many of them. Want to stay the same? Well, probably not, because I get bored if nothing changes. Hmmm. Restless, irritable, discontent, no matter what... I have had big changes in my life, some really life saving, some really life threatening. But I am still me in some real sense, some sense that I can't even conceive will not stay with me no matter what, even death. I even kind of believe the whole spiritual thing rises out of the inconceivability of death. Maybe. Or maybe I am built like this simply because it's true that something of me won't die, something that I would recognize as me. That's a very big starting point for all this stuff...as above so below. Reversed, as something in the heart of below, so above. There has to be that thread or nothing makes sense.

That, my friends is a statement of faith. The disciplines of science tend to use it too. They say it more like no matter how strange it gets, the universe remains intelligible. Something in our thinking and senses accords with what is really out there. That's really the same statement of faith about connections.

No matter how big the changes are that I have gone through, I will not experience the insectile experience of total metamorphosis. That is rebirth, being reborn in a way far more radical than any religious conversion. Or is it? I think so. How will I ever know?

I'm Still Hungry

If I crawl down here
Using all my legs, ambling
My way past your house,
Is it true I will find you
Spinning your cocoon
Like you tell me that I will?
I don't know about
Cocoons and if I have one
In my true future.
I have so many strange dreams
I don't know what's real.
If there is a change coming
Will my body itch?

******************************

Here is a poem about practicing. What if I go blind? So I practice walking around my house in the dark, remembering and trying to sense where things are. I want to be a musician, so I practice being a musician. I want to be a poet, so I practice being one. I want to be a decent human being. There's a practice there too. I want to leave you? No. Not really. But I might have to. Here's a poem about leaving you.

The Smell Of Cold Rain

I look back at you
There beyond the tracks I left
On this wet hillside.

I didn't think I could leave,
Not like this, and not your life.

It's changed how I feel
About the smell of cold rain
Falling around me.