- By Machio Mado
I Wonder Why.
Poetry
What’s wrong with Maybe?
Maybe it’s two words, not one.
Maybe nothing is at it seems.
Maybe my eyes are utterly open but green.
May be there is no such thing as the absolute truth.
Maybe I hold on to mine for dear life ‘cause I wouldn’t know who I was without it.
Maybe all you need is love. Your own.
Maybe it’s okay to be green-eyed. Everyone is.
Maybe there is no hell or heaven or earth.
Maybe my name is so easily erasable, it’s hardly worth speaking.
Maybe I am exactly where I need to be.
Maybe everything is exactly the way it needs to be.
Maybe angels have appeared to me once or twice.
Maybe the only way forward is to stand still.
Maybe everyone was born to love for a bit and die.
Maybe there is no big meaning to anything.
Maybe each day that breaks into light is a miracle.
Maybe everyone is a little bit thirsty a lot of the time.
Maybe there’s enough water on the planet, maybe not.
Maybe God has his/Her hand on my head right now.
Maybe the light from the sun is on its way.
Maybe everyone has wings they cannot see.
Maybe that thirst is the one to be free.
Maybe no one knows what that really means.
Maybe it’s okay to be in love with the notion of Me.
May be a baby sparrow is opening its eyes right now, for the very first time.
Nights – 3654.
A hundred and twenty months. Ten years. An outrageous survival.
Each night angry, uncharitable. Sleep. No sleep. Dreams. No dreams.The death of so many. Dreams.
In my dreams, I plead with you. Please stay, Be’ta.
We’ll find a way. Don’t give up yet. Don’t go away.
Come here. Sit with me.
Tell me what I need to know. Tell me what hurts you so. Tell me how I can make it go.
I could guess when you were hungry, thirsty.
To your amused annoyance, even when you wanted to pee. I just knew. I don’t know how.
But this one I did not see coming. I couldn’t. I don’t know how.
I am sorry. I had no map. I was lost in the fast lane.
In my dreams, our dark sides are friends.
Together they figure it out, Have a laugh, make it all okay.
In my dreams, we breathe together nice and slow,
As if singing a joyful melody. We hold hands and dance in our kitchen
Crying on each other’s shoulders, secretly.
From the fridge, I pull out a white china bowl
Filled with pomegranate seeds,
Rubies, I harvested earlier in the day. Please stay, my Jaan. I would say.
In my dreams,
through my furious longing
I can momentarily understand.
Your pain, your silence.
I can understand why you had to go.
Like a boat sailing into a new morn,
I must release you.
I must stay.
I must let you be on your way.
In my dreams.
(An ancestor of this poem is Walt Whitman, who said, “We were together. I forget the rest.” )
Pure Absence
What would
the radiant
sound of
a Red-winged
Blackbird be,
without the
extraordinary
power of your ears?
What would
the pale,
sailing moon
look like
without your
astonishing eyes?
What would your love
even know
what to do
with itself,
without
the ache
you intuit
in inevitable loss?
And who is it
comes to life
in you again
and again,
and every time
as a new miracle,
on the other side
of grief?
And then
there is this:
if you had
not come
into this world
just as you are,
and just in the way
you came,
could anyone
anywhere
ever
have lived your life
in your stead?
And then the question
toward the end
that might be
no end at all,
is there anything
or anyone
you meet
after death
you will
recognize?
No easy answer
to the
really, really beautiful
questions
of life,
they are just
the everyday
hidden invitations
that have always been
made to you,
something beckoning
you to understand
through every day
of your living
and your dying,
no possible
resolution
you could
ever make sense of,
except
to begin every
question
in wonder.
As Meister Eckhart was
at some pains to tell us.
What you seek,
is nowhere to be found
by answering
questions.
God’s full presence
felt
only in the absolute
essence
of absence.
- David Whyte
PS: Happy to me! Birthday. David Whyte’s words are a gift.
A Blessing.
Someone shows you the mirror without knowing he’s doing it
God knows now and then you need to look into it
Who holds you as if our very existence depended on it
Who is willing to lose the world as if all that mattered was you
Who arrives from another town in the wee hours of the morning, lighting you up
Whose voice and touch form the rhythms of your life as you listen with your eyes closed
Who sings with you believing he can’t sing not knowing he’s doing a sterling job
Who anticipates the little things you worry about like the eggs running out
Who reminds you to take your meds in time
Who steps on an unknown path with you without a doubt that everything will be fine
Who gives his breath to your voice so you can be heard far and wide
Who sees all your brave attempts at hiding the things that hurt
Who says thank you to the green mint before picking a few leaves from it
Who chooses to walk beside you as if regardless of terrain life was a long walk
Who holds your hands in his knowing the precious gems of another love inside your fist
Who knows these gems bring sparkling tears and you will never let them go
Who loves you back as if you were the only woman in the world
As if love was the only substance the world was made of
Some say God gives with one hand and takes away with another.
I see Her giving with both hands open, leaning into me