“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” - Mary Oliver Only a little time left, to walk alone in this precious and wild world; I plan to shape and walk my own wild and precious path.
I’m sharing a poem by the poet, Ros Barber, with what I think is good advice, especially in midsummer.
A silent cyclist speeding by;
a sudden noise in an empty house:
I am getting ready to be alone with just your fingerprints
Who suffers more, the watcher or the watched? The leaver or the left?
up the stairs; banisters help.
Tomorrows are collapsing.
The shadow of a bird flew across the sunlit pillar to the noise of destruction: Cognitive dissonance.
I’ve lost the password to what used to be my life.
The air is strange and I’m losing my sense of balance.
I search through remnants scattered in the home I sold,
Wondering what to keep, or sell, or trash.
In the coffeeshop, the chatter is of family discord:
Recent losses, expected deaths, and mangled hopes
Fall like tears from the balcony, splashing on me,
Where I sit, trying to create a new password.
The arms merchants recruit the awful hungers
of the power mongers and trim their synapses
Then power mongers hypnotically whisper
to the shamed and lonely ones filled with rigid angers
and find the hungriest to bombast
“the Others are thieves who want
what’s ours. Stop them. Guns!
guns, guns, guns.”
Making ghosts of our children.