The Time Being

[saw]

old growth forests
tranquil but fearful
rain forests
mist our eyes,
too many people
with too many ideas
too many mouths to feed
crying for something
sustenance
water
air
struggling
existence treading
on thinner and thinner
layers of melting ice,
floes of breath
careen off each other
the once chilly water
tepid,
yet when I descend
my front steps
I see a mighty
little plant
asserting itself
though a sliver
of a crack
in my sidewalk,
and now I look around
to see all the cracks
have life
popping out
in defiance,
so I grin a little
drop the subject
for the time being,
take a long slow walk.

[Kailashana]

Your poem reminded me of the moment Victor Frankl's life changed. He is the father of Logotherapy and existential analysis.

".. We stumbled on in the darkness, over big stones and through large puddles, along the one road leading from the camp. The accompanying guards kept shouting at us and driving us with the butts of their rifles. Anyone with very sore feet supported himself on his neighbor's arm. Hardly a word was spoken; the icy wind did not encourage talk. Hiding his mouth behind his upturned collar, the man marching next to me whispered suddenly: "If our wives could see us now! I do hope they are better off in their camps and don't know what is happening to us."

That brought thoughts of my own wife to mind. And as we stumbled on for miles, slipping on icy spots, supporting each other time and again, dragging one another up and onward, nothing was said, but we both knew: each of us was thinking of his wife. Occasionally I looked at the sky, where the stars were fading and the pink light of the morning was beginning to spread behind a dark bank of clouds. But my mind clung to my wife's image, imagining it with an uncanny acuteness. I heard her answering me, saw her smile, her frank and encouraging look. Real or not, her look was then more luminous than the sun which was beginning to rise.

A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth -- that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way—an honorable way—in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, "The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory...." [7]

[constantine]

solid work - lean and cogent.

[saw]

thanx K, for the great Frankl lines, what a wordsmith.....and thank you dino my friend, you are a gentleman and a scholar......and you have good taste...ha ha

[theirishsea]

I agree with your thoughts. There is hope if the grass and weeds make it through the cracks in the concrete. However, humanity may not survive the food and water crises and the wars---wow, do we have weapons to destroy ourselves. The simpler organisms, though without too much pride, will survive and carry this adventure of life on on this planet.

[saw]

thanx irish.....I did a painting recently of a creature/ plant, a morphing of the two species into one in order to survive man's demise....who knows....maybe that's the way it'll go down.....a resilient new species part ficus, part giraffe......
part morel, part peacock.....who the hell knows,.........