I caught a ride on the rail tonight.
The sun was setting and I thought To find a place to bed down. I left town headed west Toward the setting sun And within a short time The train track crept up on the side of the road And I looked up to see a train moving alongside, It was keeping time, or I kept time with it. It was unexpected, slightly surprising, comforting, The box cars silhouetted by the evening colors. And the road and train veered together right. I had only planned to find an empty field outside of town. But the train and the colors hooked me and pulled me along. A mile, five miles, ten miles. The road and track stayed together Till finally, it curved and passed above me on an overpass. What a beautiful ride! What a beautiful sight! A ride upon the rails tonight.
0 Comments
We were born for adversity,
And to face this last great tribulation, And to be marred and crushed under the weight of it. But we were not born unto the hell of fear and doubt. And though they cling to us the day-long And would destroy our very souls, We say to our eyes “Look up, eyes, and see the unseen things That will arise when death has had its way And we come forth in white robes Unto the liberation of all those Who believed in the things they could not see unto the end. I am willing to risk heresy
For the freedom and liberation That comes from allowing each person To hear the voice of God for him or herself. It is better than the dogma that binds men to dead forms. Volume will overcome imperfection.
In other words, do it more Whatever IT is, And you’ll eventually win, Somehow, someway, somewhere. You have no idea how little I care about your sprockets,
Nor how fast I can turn ‘em out on your machine. But the whole big thing might matter just a little If I could only see the woman smile As she rolls her window down. Then perhaps, I’d care, just a little. Maybe it would help me believe That all of this means something. But I can’t see past the metal Nor the wheel that turns the days around And squeezes out another carefully measured dollar Into my silent bank account Without a word, without a look, without even The feel of your sweaty palm As the money passes From your hand Into mine. And so, one day soon, I’ll move on. These places are all the same. But you knew that. You knew that my allegiance was temporary, And you planned for the day when I would leave and be replaced By another just the same. Maybe next I’ll try a restaurant. And there I’ll brew up pots of beans. I’ll cut tomatoes, and chop up salad greens And wrap them up in fine burritos. And, now and then, I’ll look out, To see the people smile And listen as they Compliment the establishment. I am a paradox.
I have been since my youth. Wherever I go, I do not fit. I do not fit with the higher-ups. I do not fit with the lower-downs. And yet, I kind of fit with the higher-ups Until you get to know me better. And I kind of am a lower-down When see the place I live. I am more comfortable with those Who are lost or on the fringes, At least for a while, Though I don’t imbibe In the liberties of their station. And I can fool the higher-ups Into believing I am one of them, At least for a while. Sooner or later they realize That I do not embrace the dogma That raises them up to their lofty station. And from then on they see me as dangerous. And it’s ok. I don’t mind being what I am. It just means that I have a hard time Finding a place where I can settle down. Dome Valley - a tiny warmth within highlights the sign
That marks the turnoff from the southbound highway. But I don’t turn. I keep going toward a familiar metropolis. And the next morning I find out that the person I seek Is half an hour East. That is further than I thought. I board the interstate and drive. The suburbs stretch out Mile after mile, But then begin to thin As I rise, rise, upon the back Of some small range Of mountains. I crest the summit And again see a sign - Dome Valley. Something swells within me as I gaze down Upon the green fields of lettuce and kale. And it wraps me up in the sweet knowing That I have again found the sheltering cloud and fiery pillar. Thank you, dear God, that this is home for a while And that I have a work to do here A person to love and find And a healing to receive As I rest beneath The canopy That you spread over all those Who keep moving toward the holy place. A note to myself:
The vital thing is to publish. To finish. And if that’s the goal, Then the writing will bend itself to that aim. It is a strategy for those of us who get lost along the way. I am back out on the BLM,
A few hours, a night. I had forgotten how peaceful. The stark difference strikes me. It could be the ocean, Or a mountaintop, Or an empty grassy plain, It would be the same So long as it was wild and unclaimed. It’s so much easier here. A place that nobody owns. I knew a man who lived far out on the BLM Where no one would notice. Perhaps this is why. I need this, My family needs this, The world needs this, A wild place that nobody claims To be alone with God And the silence. You don’t have to denounce your past
To embrace your newfound passion. They are one thing in the end. And he who denounces Will continue to denounce. But he who embraces it all with gratitude, Will be added upon forever and ever. You don’t have to denounce your past
To embrace your newfound passion. They are one thing in the end. And he who denounces Will continue to denounce. But he who embraces it all with gratitude, Will be added upon forever and ever. The children of light are of one tribe
To spite their varied persuasions. I have found that people often have conflicting goals
That they do not care to notice. And since they want things to remain the same More than they want the change that will bring improvement, They do not make much progress. Once our goals are aligned We can move forward. Before that time, We must either face our contradictions Or eternally flounder and grow disenchanted with the process. The shadow and the pillar have moved again, and I prepare to move on,
South, I believe, to the place that borders another country, It’s funny that after all of these years, I still tremble and feel insecure. What if we decentralized our corporations
Not because of government mandates, But because we want less headaches. And what if each factory worker went home And operated a cottage industry That cooperated with a central idea - a central brand. What if we shared the brand. I did that once. I cooperated with a friend. I manufactured certain products. He manufactured others. And we shared the same brand. In the end, we both made more money And had less headaches. What if the higher-ups
Gave the enterprise away to the lower-downs? And what if the lower downs Decided, out of gratitude, How much to pay the higher-ups? Not a rule. Not a law. But a personal policy On the part of those who have To be the servants of all And a personal policy On the part of the have-nots To not forget to feed the ones who gave their all. What if we found a way
To do business with Actual others. What if we could walk away from papers?
What if we could say no to the hoops They dangle before us enticingly? What if we could do without money,
At least for the most part? What if we could trade? What if I never touched the things that flow through me?
What if they skipped me altogether And landed in the laps Of those I love? |
Archives
March 2024
|