The Wind's Song

For Chris


I live with a double-edged sword;
like the earthquake which made us aware
our insignificance
in the general scheme of things
as well, made us acknowledge
the magnificence of that same scheme.
If the numinous is both beautiful
and terrifying, every day
of my life is numinous.
Old age and illness are bound with fear
but there can still be beauty: a sunrise,
a toddler playing in a birdbath.
I am buying two wind harps which will
ripple with the spirit of the wind harmonizing birdsong
and the rustle of leaves.
They will sing the song of my life,
they will sing the song of my death,
here in my garden.

Timeless Journey

My unconscious does not
acknowledge death as an ending;
as far as it is concerned,
it has gone on forever
and has no need to recognise
human transitions and boundaries.
The fact that my conscious mind
and, even worse,
my over-weening ego will disappear
makes no interruption
to its timeless journey.
I feel I’m being evicted from myself.

At times, I want to borrow
a long-ago, four year old’s rebuke,
and say: “I’m me and you’re you,
and you do it”.