April 23, 2020

The past few days, just when I thought that I am adjusting to this strange new world where everything is familiar but unknown at the same time, I have been thrown “off course” again by the senseless killing that has taken place on Canada’s east coast. I am filled with a sense of time that feels like I’m in a fun house with the crazy mirrors that reflect altered images, a warped me. My words are held in a lump in my throat so instead I share with you the words of Joseph Campbell:

“People say that what we’re all seeking is a meaning for life. I don’t think that’s what we’re really seeking. I think that what we’re seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.”

(photo credit: Sebastien Gabriel)

Napkin Writer

Words gush to the surface
like bubbles in a poured glass of Prosecco
rapidly fill a glass
then settle, continuing to gurgle, roil and fizz
These words are unsettled
want to be expressed
need to be released
before disappearing into oblivion
unable to be recalled
simply gone

Like pop rocks on the tongue
producing an explosion of flavours and sound
that quickly disappear
these words are a flash
of concepts and impressions
in danger of dispersing
without being understood

Furtively I look for a vessel
for these tumbling thoughts
no paper to be found
a large white dinner napkin
becomes the carafe

This unlikely flagon
now absorbs and holds the ink of a pen
breathes words unspoken
Meant to be crumpled and disposed
for a moment this simple means
designed to wipe away excess or spillage
becomes a keeper of words
thoughts made conscious
Alive on soft white cotton