You don’t seem to understand.
I’m not a child waiting for my time in the sun.
Long years and sleepless nights have come and gone,
yet the road stretches far ahead.
To those who wish to define me,
Try it.
I’m not a father, brother, or husband.
I can’t be a publisher, writer, or author.
Do you think I’m a friend, colleague, or co-worker?
Keep going. You still haven’t seen me.
Arms can not, will not, hold onto my spirit
as no single word can describe that which
stretches out beyond this body and into forever.
Ripples on the water seem familiar. Ripples on the fabric of existence push against time itself.
Twisting and intersecting.
Always moving forward.
Repetitive raptures run rampant to taste the sweet sugar of the heavenly sky.But the infinite sky, forever flowing, can’t contain me.
One into two, two into three, three into 10,000 things.
You are with me, but not.
Waves bounce off each other, turning in new directions.
In them, we travel forward, never backward.
I can not be inside while out, but better out than in.
To those who attempt to know me,
You don’t.
I am not a student, teacher, or master.
Pianist, drummer, and singer are only labels.
Creator, podcaster, inventor, techy, nerd.
How many ways can you be blind to the truth?
Do not come close because what you see won’t be.
Close your eyes, count to three, and find the universe without leaving your door.
To those who wish to define me, Try yourself.
Look past your deep yearnings and shallow wants.
There I am.
Define happiness without making a sound.
You can find me there.
The place, the fleeting moment between awake and dreaming.
Hello.
Inside my mind is for me, but my mind is not me.
Just as your mind is not you.
Each one of us is together, separated, then together.
A part of a whole too big to see, too vast to hold,
And too divided to piece together the lively, colorful,
and rich puzzle of Dao.
To those who wish to define me,
Try.
But you will fail.
The music on Jorge Mendez’s album, Silhouettes, inspired this poem.