As long as the earth
Spins without you knowing
You are learning.
As long as you can’t see
The air that you are breathing
You are learning.
Every moment is a catch in the fabric
To find one’s own
Secret objective reality
That invokes different Gods,
Parents, experiences, sets
Of consensual perceptions,
And separate screams of truth
That can’t be heard,
Not even by dogs.
It’s not what can be written in a book.
The laws of each moment are far too mutable
To be condensed into truths.
It’s too important for the individual
To be anything more
Than individual,
To play in some akashic saga
Where the heroes always prevail
Against the most uncertain of odds,
Telling their stories along the way,
Every unexpected detail,
Against a common enemy of boredom.
A master of sorts, silent and invisible,
Takes in the unruly entertainment en toto
And disappears without a nod.
You can sense the presence
The next time you say what it is,
Still whatever you believe in ends
And there’s always something new on the same road,
The blaze in every head
Of lampstrings to be tugged.
