In Wonderland
The One Single Impression prompt today is “reincarnation”, a theme I already write about from time to time. This time around, I was thinking about Alice in Wonderland, for some reason, and how that kind of self-re-creation is akin to death, rebirth, etc… when you connect that with the notion of dreams, and the Tibetan Buddhist notion of bardo, there’s a lot to be said about the dreamlike end of a life. (Kind of like in the movie What Dreams May Come, maybe?) I don’t know, it all kind of blurs together, and spits itself out into the poem that I’ve typed in below. If you can make sense of it, you’ll have done a better job than I.
In Wonderland
next was the undressing, the stripping away of fabric
layer after layer falling to the ground, then
skin, great sheets of it exposing the negative space
underneath:
nature abhors a vaccuum
so what shall nature fill it with?
a person does not translate well from one language into another:
words fail to point at a meaning, and instead shine off
in all directions
here in the milam bardo a person could say the sky
or spell out the snowy beards of himalaya,
a person could dig through all that
dense empty space stored up from lifetime to lifetime
dig out
a clouded leopard whose spots tell the story of their past
a red ringtailed panda, soft-faced and white-hearted,
a relic species full of hesitant moth’s blood
for here in the milam bardo there are many possibilities,
and every card in the deck is eager for attention
observing the transformation of things:
how easily one can slip between the misfirings of a dying mind
and the compiling of dreams!
a person shrinks, and grows, and shrinks again,
but always a lifetime is like a single lazy day by the river,
framed by what smart talk fails to describe,
those reinventions in the rabbit hole,
chessboard maneuvers
where the prize for the winner is to put the body on again
and wake
jukota said,
November 15, 2009 at 10:04 pm
how easily one can slip between the misfirings of a dying mind – and where do we go from there? I found your poem absolutely fascinating!
SandyCarlson said,
November 15, 2009 at 10:05 pm
We would do well to remember this:
but always a lifetime is like a single lazy day by the river,
Yousei Hime said,
November 16, 2009 at 2:14 am
difficult, but lovely images. Just finished a long piece on my site. Stop by please.
Karen said,
November 16, 2009 at 6:58 am
Somehow, with something you just “typed in”, you manage to capture the essence exactly. I’ve been there twice, caring for the dying, and I’ve seen them peeling away layer after layer; I’ve witnessed the misfirings and the dreamlike state, and I’ve wondered where they were going and what prize awaited. If this is purely imaginative, it is amazingly right on.
Have you ever visited Bolts of Silk? It’s a poetry site run by Juliet Wilson (Crafty Green Poet). I think you should send this one there.
Pam said,
November 16, 2009 at 9:15 am
Joseph – this poem is wonderful. I think this is the best work I have read of yours — Bravo!
Sweetest in the Gale (Fledgling) said,
November 16, 2009 at 10:36 am
This was deep and very visual…gorgeous read!
Joseph Harker said,
November 16, 2009 at 2:46 pm
Jukota: if I knew, I’d say it. ;) Thanks!
Sandy: I should have added that there will always be a yesterday, and there will always be a tomorrow…
Yousei: certainly! Might not have time at the moment – class in 10 minutes – but later this evening I’ll be catching up on all the missed blogs..
Karen: did you ever read What Dreams May Come? The whole process is described in beautiful detail, or at least the author’s take on it. I’ve never watched it happen personally, but I admire your courage, as I imagine it takes a lot of that to observe. And I have visited Bolts of Silk once or twice, but haven’t made a habit of it… perhaps I should.
Pam: many thanks! ^__^
SintheG: glad you enjoyed it!
Amity Me said,
November 16, 2009 at 10:16 pm
awesome post!
too many morals from it…:)
christopher said,
November 17, 2009 at 9:06 pm
This poem stands alone. I too write in this part of things and like Karen, I have witnessed the passing of my mother up close. She went straight to coma from a stroke after a day of awareness but even there in coma orchestrated events a little. She kicked up quite a fuss when she was dying in the afternoon before everyone got there, so we added morphine to let her have a few more hours. Then my sister got there and I too from having gone to pick them up at the airport. In forty five minutes she let go again, this time peacefully. I held her hand and told her it was okay as she breathed and then couldn’t any more. She tried but not hard. Everyone was there. Time to go. She and I have a pact. We are not coming back here.
karen said,
November 17, 2009 at 9:44 pm
I haven’t read that book and was certainly not prepared for the role thrust upon me – primary caregiver for the dying. In many ways, it was not pretty – some of the physical things I had to do would have been unthinkable had I the time to think. And yet, Joseph, there was a holiness in what I did. I felt so honored to be able to participate in such ancient rites. I learned about dying and about death. I also learned more than I can say about living.
Interestingly, I’ve tried writing about the experiences, but aside from one small poem, I can’t seem to write it. Maybe someday.
Tumblewords said,
November 18, 2009 at 12:24 am
A beautifully written poem. It reaches the heart and fills the mind. Lovely!
gautami tripathy said,
November 19, 2009 at 9:33 am
It does make a lot of sense to me. Being a Hindu, reincarnation is nothing new to us..
time and time again
Joseph Harker said,
November 20, 2009 at 2:33 pm
Amity: thank you!
Christopher: that’s quite courageous; I know I sure as hell wouldn’t have the strength to do that. Much as I’d want to… one of my deepest regrets is that I was out of the country when my grandmother died, and my parents didn’t tell me until I returned (three days later). But still, I don’t know that I could sit there like that. I like your pact, though; it’s not for me, but it’s good to have that kind of thing understood.
Karen: I agree with your choice of the word “holiness”; some things are way more sacred than what we’re told is sacred. And you’re right that death can teach us so much about life (and vice versa). As to writing poems… well, some things take time, and I guess some things just shouldn’t be written about, period. They’re best in the head and the soul.
Tumble: thank you, glad you liked it!
gautami: I’ve always been jealous of religions that had reincarnation as part of their dogma; it just makes more sense to me, you know? Wish I’d grown up with that mindset.
gabrielle said,
November 20, 2009 at 5:08 pm
Are there remarkable moments in this life — trance, dream states, ecstasy, epiphany– when one can slip out of her skin, be completely naked before the next.? Is it that special or is renewal available in every shining moment? There is such a radiance in your writing!