Thursday, February 18, 2010

What It Was

"We fall into a story about enlightenment - about life, in fact - and we can get trapped in it for many lifetimes. I wonder more and more how well any life really fits a story. What if our life is not this, then that, in a flat and sensible way, but is equally round like a globe, like the earth itself? Maybe our life never did lie flat on the page and read from left to right, from the fifteenth to the sixteenth of the month."
- Susan Murphy

I am a sky pilot. I am trapped in my story about other worlds. I dress them up in spiritual garb. I want to fly. I dress my story in romantic garb. The romance and the spirit is a guidance for behavior.

Behave like this, my story says. My life consists of doing what I must to make room for my story. In my story I am a poet, a musician. But really these are things I do. I did not always do them. When I was young, I resisted the music, because my parents wanted me to do it. Not until it was difficult and rebellious did I dive in. Then I quit because I started all wrong and hit a wall. The poetry is late in life, although there were pieces of it life long.

What I really am, I met God and that saved my life, but I had to decide that's really what happened. It's a story too. The carrot of meeting Him again is out there. I have some things to say. I want to say them, not here but there.

All these stories. My last girlfriend thought I was brilliant but a little tedious and not active enough by far. But that's her story. Here's another story.

What It Was

I was a happy
drunk who fell down stairs smiling
and loved to dance on
when he should lay down.

I was a careless drunk who spent
life so handicapped
that he lost normal
things to bizarre dope fed dreams.

I was the sky pilot.

I pay the old price
still, the way my life is now
echoes off bottles.

April 3, 2009 9:06 PM


  1. Erin has the right of it.

  2. yes, this all makes very much sense.
    and for yesterdays post; yes, i would all do it again.
    and maybe i wake up one day, and do know i am the queen :) for now i am still stuck in my story, flat on the face.
    sorry i sometimes read 2 posts as one.

  3. It is both our blessing and our curse, this ability to tell stories. The stories sometimes soar.

    The Buddhists point out the trouble and say even the highest will be the ruination of the journey in the end: If you meet the Buddha on the road, you must kill him. That is, there is no possibility of meeting him without his story and no possibility of keeping him without his story. Thus it is. Thus it always and ever is.

    Before the spiritual life culminates in true success, all, All, ALL! must be left behind, even God Himself.

    Jozien, pick yourself up, bandage your nose and put one foot in front of the other. Soon you will dance.

    We keep the stories because we must. We cannot function here without them. The spiritual disciplines include a refuge for this precise reason. The seekers try to live without stories and so live within the larger story of refuge that is not theirs.

    It is our duty to live loose in the stories (like cowboys ride loose in their saddles) so that we may shed them the moment they no longer work. There is a whole morality to this work too, because our stories involve many people who participate, some in complicity and some in innocence.


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

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