I am working and, once again, listening to the Universe. I got a common response at 1am in the morning. A few days ago I wrote my first poem. It doesn’t matter whether it is a brilliant poem or not. What matters more is that I create. It is in creating that I exist. It is only our earthly projection that requires that we ‘shut up’ if our creations are found lacking. If I exist then I can do living. My poem came into existence on 7 November, and as I did some tweaking this morning, I realised that I wrote it on the second anniversary of his death. He is the man I longed to touch when Elle died – my friend who never knew me – Leonard Cohen. I will never stop showing up again. The Zeitgeist is where we who live belong.
ATLAS SHRUGGED, FINALLY
Atlas shrugged, and Earth crashed.
So tired of our empty ways.
Who will blame him?
All has crumpled as if Nothing.
Now I bend, blindly
I sift and shift, but only rubble.
Wish that it were just a thousand kisses deep.
Where is my beating heart?
What is left of my mind?
There are no meanings.
Words fail me as tyrants rise again,
Our rags of light torn to shreds by the Nothing.
And the sun slinks away,
Light dimming as he goes.
Where’s the glory
As Time turns up empty handed?
Hope bows her head in despair.
My eyes ache to turn inward
And my ears seek the warmth of his voice.
Are you there my old friend?
I love to speak with Leonard
Ah tis sad, but he has left the House.
A little while before publishing my post a message arrived in Messenger from a fellow traveller, but I only saw it later. Kurt Vonnegut is definitely on my shelf of favourite authors. I loved his insightful thinking and quirky plot construction.
This is a good example of the weird and wonderful conversation I have going on with the uni-verse, a single poem of my own making gets its reward:
“… The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”