YOU CAN TEACH THE MIND
You can teach the mind
but you can’t teach the heart anything
about the way it’s come through everything
like a theme of the ocean through a bloodstream.
The crabs clatter like sleepwalking clocks
across moonlit beaches
holding up the crescents of their claws
like lunar castanets
to dance the time away
with their own shadows.
Walking the road
you become the road
and no one gets anywhere
until only the road arrives.
Petty people toy with small destinations
they call themselves.
Be a great river
and follow your own veins and arteries
down the mountain
through the plains and valleys below
to the vastness of the sea that conceived you.
And when the sea reflects the stars
don’t look for your place in the waters
as if you were reading a starmap
when every drop of you
is distilled from a vine of the light.
When you turn the light around
and pour the mooncup of your existence
back into the river it scooped you from
to ease a stranger’s thirst for stars,
and everything seems empty and forsaken,
and the dream is quaking in the turbo-charged air,
suddenly you disappear
and the sea is everywhere
effaced by its own longing to share.
If you hate the world,
it will go to war with you.
If you love it inordinately
it will ignore you.
Better to be the fire
and not be burnt by your own flame;
better to be the sword
that kills you into life
and not be cut by either edge.
And if you’re a bell
so stuffed with choirs
you can’t sing,
or a liar pimping constellations like bling
in the blaze of your own thing,
you should know
there is no hell for you,
no truth that’s going to sting
that hasn’t already been bored to death
by your significance.
There is no inclusion
no exclusion in clarity.
If you examine closely
the coinciding of thought events
that you misrepresent as your mind,
the whole of the sea is in every wave
and the water isn’t startled
when the fish jumps.
Walking by that sea
everything the world
ever stole from you
is returned by grateful thieves.