The Last Day
I don’t write as much poetry as I used to. The production is dwindling. And the quality has gotten worse. It’s almost as though I’m out of words. The great bag of utterance and grunts distilled in writing is largely empty. Just a few more shakes and it will run out.
I’ve seen this awful life: neurosis, depression, the conditioning, the specter of suffering throughout this little world. And what has been my reaction to these facts? I no longer condemn Man. Nor do I accept his behavior. I don’t deny the evils, the ignorance, the ugliness although I can understand Escape in all its forms. In seeing this I am enlightened.
I am Man. I am you and me. I am everyone and everyone resides in me. This is called relationship and without relationship life has no meaning. The little groups we belonged to for Millennia are displaced by the World Village. It can become that intimate.
I am a common type found in all the cities: cosmopolitan, Middle Class, (although the lowest of the Middle Class, by McCain’s definition), intellectual but very averse to that word, a visual and literal poet. I am aging relatively well but am in that descending mode as it’s called in airlines’ parlance. I cannot see the still far-off city let alone the mote of an airport. We are readying for landing in about a half-hour. My loving wife holds my hand. I begin to see small cities far down that are adjacent to the metropolis. But we are still far off. A little vessel perhaps noticed by some on the ground. They take a look and see an airplane headed to the Big City. That’s all. But I’m a passenger in this rumbling craft. It’s my only world. I’m only aware of my mortality as are all of us on that conveyance into the future.
Our world today has advanced in technology, engineering, science, data collection, and in ways considered miraculous. We’ve sent man to the moon. We’ve mapped our DNA. A portion of us, The Few, live more richly than any of our ancestors but we require The Many be oppressed. Despite our so-called progressions, we haven’t been able to take that inward journey that can truly propel us and cure this despoiled planet.
We worship The Known, The Word, our expert conclusions, and take pride in reducing whatever we observe to quantifiable bits, packets of digital imagery and sound, the assurance we are so right and justified. Necessary remedies and marvels have accompanied our expansion both into the atomic and macro-universe. Great danger also lurks. Our certainties are as driven as our greed. In seeing this as it is, without comment or analysis, without judgment, without seeking and becoming, is the beginning of wisdom.