Monday, February 16, 2009

On The Road, Perilous Holes

Two different takes on being on the spirit path. These poems were written a few hours apart and things had happened in between of course, so there it is...two different attitudes with just a short time between.

This is one big reason I know I can't ever say it all. Even if I were to write a long book under an intense spirtual discipline, I still would be unable to cover what happens next. That's pretty precise too. What happens next in that case means what happens next after I successfully complete some magnum opus. There's always a what happens next as far as I know. It is the nature of this place. It is said in some paths that there is a way out, a real way out. To me that means a way out of what happens next.

When I look at it like that, I hesitate. I know that I have the Bodhisattva sentiment, that it would be good to go beyond what happens next if you all come too, but only if you want to. So I will wait until you both want to and can go at the same time, at least that's what I will do in this lifetime. That's what it has come to, a commitment of sorts, but not because I have arrived. I connect up to Bodhisattva in a similar way as young in spirit Buddhists do, making the commitment to follow the path (that's what they do, I follow my own) but being nowhere near that state. That Bodhisattva term is used in a similar way in some Buddhist circles as the term saint is used in some Christian circles. It signifies intent and commitment, not realization.

Suffering is the price of presence here. But suffering is a technical term that Buddhists use. I know people like my last lover who loses patience with all that suffering crap. She just dives in. She so fully loves this world and I find I envy that. I cannot do it. She goes through all the yucky stuff like I do too. She gets up and dives in again. She did Zen in her youth, reads Krishnamurti. Her motherhood, garden, music, and her devotion to the people she chooses is the heart of it for her. So I also know this, that my Way is not the only Way.

And that my friends is another really big reason I will never be able to say it all.

On The Road

How can I choose you
Among all the wise displayed
Along this strange road?
Coyote lopes beside me.
Owl flies above, so too cranes.

The dust of my feet
Shows on me. I've passed the stage
You built over there
To display the truth.
I trust you yet go further,
Don't know when I'll stop.
Owl and cranes fly on.
Coyote yips. He grins - tongue
Dripping, tail wagging.


There are days I feel I have lost my way. Then occasionally, like what happened this weekend, I know the Way is really close by no matter how far I stray, that sometimes in just the right simple way I am gifted with the signal, the way station post, that I am following after all. But this poem is about getting pretty nervous about straying.

Perilous Holes

The holes in the ground
Fall through to the Southern Sky,
Perilous walking
For me and my pal
And we would take another
Way if we could find
The path you promised.

Must have taken a wrong turn.
This just isn't right.


  1. I am falling behind again:)

    I think I am on a spirit path too. I did not realize this until recently. Beginning to write again after so many years is a path. I hope someday to have as much insight as you seem to have. I forget who I am and where I have been and even where I am going.

    I wrote a poem for you.

    I think you are an angel
    not one so holy and distant
    but here in my heart now
    with words and words
    that don't belong to me
    these words you let out into the world.
    Let out like the Northern Lights
    across the sky
    they reach me here
    where I was feeling so silent.
    I step into the glow.
    And somehow now I
    see differently.

    It was inspired by you and Jozien and the Northern Lights she has and the connections I am finding that have been so helpful. So maybe part of my path is being here. Just wanted to say Thank you.

  2. Oh lord. Perilous holes indeed. Thank you for your faith in my presence in your life. I pray that I can measure up to the size and shape of your heart and not ever behave beyond your capacity to forgive. That because I am going to screw up sometimes.

    About the insight, there was a poem I wrote and posted a while back about being a few steps ahead on a million mile journey. My apparent wisdom may seem like a lot but in the entire scheme of things comes to laughably little.

    I am going to save this poem. Thank you. I agree with you that this writing thing is a path. I suspect of itself it is incomplete, but it may well be essential for those of us who find it. Most really good writers are called (or driven:)

    It is said in AA that religion is for people who are trying to avoid going to Hell. Spirituality is for people who have already been there. I believe there is some truth to that.

  3. Coyote visited me today too, but not so happily. Instead, he is skirting the perilous pits. It's good to see him grin and pant again, in your poem.

  4. Your poetry is beautiful.

    And your spirit is too.


  5. Rachel, I know. Coyote behaves in ways that irritate a good many people. These people, by the way, have encroached severely on coyote's home ground. Coyote tries to live as he has always lived. This is difficult and sad. And you are right, his road is perilous and will get worse.

    Someone could ask, Where is God in all this?? I have no answer but to live according to the call I follow.

    Michelle, you are very kind.

  6. Wonderful poems, Christopher. You have merged the philosophical world with the natural world, as it should be:) These lines are jaw droppers:

    The dust of my feet
    Shows on me. I've passed the stage
    You built over there
    To display the truth.

    Excellent work.

  7. You are indeed a treasure, wise sage.......(hugs)

  8. After all that has been said, the Coyote is a noble beast. I find peace in your words and feel the elements of mysticism. All the best.


  9. Thanks, Lorenzo, you do have to look past the scraggly manners and the larceny in Coyote's heart. There is the matter of the practical jokes Coyote loves, and he dearly loves a good chicken raid. Yet some feel he is essentially placed in the way the world works. With Coyote gone, the world stones will grind off center.

    Cherie, I do believe I am one of your bigger fans and I would fall completely head over heels if I could figure out how to make any sense of it at all. I happily hug and kiss you back.



The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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