What Barn.

comments 33
Poetry

You will never find water
that isn’t in cahoots
with all the other water.
Even the last drop
of a dried-up lake
has the idea
of the sea
inside of it.
A buffalo laps it up.
Now what…

What I mean is that
when you’re quiet,
dissolving into the sky
is a completely natural
thing to do.
You could pop back out anywhere,
coalesce out of nothing,
find yourself in an
active hygroscopic nebula,
and fall to the earth.
Something would probably
start growing there.

How would you call it?
By what name?
This is where it starts
to get pretty confusing.
I don’t know
what happened either.
It’s just how things are.
Ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes.
Two nostrils.
One tongue.
An inner arcana of feelings.
That strange glint in your eye.
Everything we’ve ever seen
was a horse
that got out of the barn.
Clydesdales up to the horizon.
Ask yourself, though,
if anyone has ever
even seen the barn?
No.
This is what I mean.

My only concern
with destinations
is that they limit
our movement.
My other concern
is that some people
are still susceptible
to their clever
ad campaigns
and innuendo
about the shortfalls
of right here.
If you think
the feelings are better
over there,
by all means…
I like watching
when people realize
they’re in dragon-fire cahoots
with everywhere.

Right on, brother.
Run the other way.
That pond’s all dried up.

Thinking about water
one last time tonight,
you will not catch water
off on its own
in the basement
of an abandoned building
praying to be made
into a better water.
Let’s think about that one.
You’ll never find a water
that’s trying like hell
to reinvent its self.

It must be the enzymes
inside of us
that are causing
all the trouble.
Like they’re all in league
together in there
or something.

33 Comments

  1. Walking My Path: Mindful Wanderings in Nature says

    The enzymes, the hormones, the thoughts, the expectations. Let’s just live NOW. I love this Michael. What a great poem! Thank you.

    Liked by 4 people

    • Thank you, Mary. The thoughts and expectations for sure… The idea that there’s one more thing I need to do before I rest in the ocean of who I am. One more thing to make a difference, but… that thing is right over there, and I will have to go there… I’m realizing how much of this type of thinking I have in me, and it is so fulfilling to rest on what is, even just a moment here and there… It is beautiful. Like a hidden door… 🙂

      Michael

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful.
    “you will not catch water
    off on its own
    in the basement
    of an abandoned building
    praying to be made
    into a better water.”
    I like that part. The journey is not about becoming a better person.
    Peace,
    Karin

    Liked by 4 people

    • You said it, H. So much squeezing shut and clamoring for mercy, when what’s needed is the courage to open slowly, to look gently upon all that we see, to accept what we find, and to in the process discover it’s altogether holier than we suspected in our beleaguered minds, trembling in the back of barn’s pitch black shadows…

      Michael

      Liked by 3 people

    • In this instance, yes. They’re hackers and cutters, as you know. Cracking things apart. Breaking them down. Prying them open… But this reminds me of a sentiment I read in A Course of Love which the enzyme analogy suddenly makes clear… Sorta’…

      The passage is this: “Creation simply does include destruction in much the same way all includes nothingness. Without relationship, all and nothing are
      the same. In relationship, the difference between all and nothing is everything. So too is it with creation and destruction. Without relationship, creation and destruction are the same. In
      relationship, the difference between creation and destruction is everything.”

      Enzymes, (I think), help us break things down. Destroy them. But in relationship to the process of sustaining life, the difference is indeed profound. In the context, and the relationship, of flowing Life, these destructive processes take on new meaning… They provide us with the raw materials to build new life…

      But yes, basically, too much thinking. I’ve just given you an example of that here… 🙂

      Michael

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I feel like just breathing… and letting the water be the water. I like thinking about this Horse, but I don’t know why I would think of a barn… I picture horses being free. Where does the barn come from? I’m feeling connected to everything today, Michael. I also feel like I have the space I need to enjoy all the connecting…Everything is just beautiful, spacious…

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hi Ka,

      The barn came from my playing with the expression, “that horse is out of the barn”… I was suggesting everything we see is like a secret that has been given away, and can’t be taken back, if we see it truly. In a sense, everything belies the existence of the barn, and yet the barn is what we never see…

      I haven’t actually read Living Rainbow H2O. I’ve read the Rainbow and the Worm, and I’ve read many of Mae-Wan Ho’s publications about water in her magazine and on her website, but I haven’t read that book yet. It’s on the list! The reading about water that I have done reminds me how integral it is to life, to not only biology but to conducting the rhythms of the stars and the earth, as if it is a medium or channel of communication itself. So, yes! this partly inspired this. Also, my own observations of the times I feel myself shrink a bit, from the desire to “improve” or “become better”, and how these desires at this point on my path are more hindrances than supporting movements. It was the thought of being as simple as water… letting these notions go…

      The day you wrote these comments sounds lovely, Ka. I’m in one of those moods right now… like the whole sky and every swirl of wind is falling perfectly into place… These moments are beautiful, and increasingly sustained by their sharing… 🙂

      Here’s to another beautiful day–
      Michael

      Liked by 1 person

      • Excellent ❤ another beautiful day 🙂 It makes sense…how you describe it. I often admire how people are able to communicate so clearly, as the way in which you've done so in your reply. I don't believe it's that easy to convey what we mean (for me). It's interesting how I related to your poem, huh? I mean, I had my own experience of 'the barn,' not related to the saying you are referencing in your poem. I think for me the word, "That" in "that horse" is crucial to my getting it. I've heard the word, "that" emphasized in speech. It's difficult to explain to you what it is that I've been exposed to that helps you see how I experience the saying – you know, in a local sense? It's also really interesting how you are currently relating to the idea of 'improvement.' Oh, Ideas… How perfect you already are.
        When letting go is natural and not something we are striving for, we do recognize the barn. Is it the elephant in the room? I feel like we are all enlightened beings – or expressing moments of thee enlightenment – and trying to explain to one another what it's like…trying to describe it. Isn't that fun? I say that with excitement. 🙂 Aloha, Ka

        Liked by 1 person

        • Hi Ka,

          I love your closing thoughts here, that we are trying to explain to one another what it’s like. This is beautiful. It captures what I think is the essence of creativity, and our importance to one another. When we taste this delight, we do want to share it, to give it away– to explain what it’s like. But we can only kind of point to it, right…!? And then we encounter another who sees what we’re pointing at, and understands, and it’s amazing that this can even happen… A miracle…

          I know what you mean about little words making a big difference. I think the expression is most commonly offered as “the horse is out of the barn” but for some reason I wrote “that horse”… 🙂 No reason in particular, but yes, ‘that’ can be one of those words that, when emphasizes, changes everything. I’m reminded of that Rumi poem, “Like This…”

          How perfect we all already are… Peace, Michael

          Liked by 1 person

  4. And no sooner that I believe I’ve achieved ‘this better’, the ‘next better’ seems to be waiting around the corner! Accepting the stillness and the turbulence of the waters within has yet to come naturally and yet in moments of quiet introspection I wonder how else can it really be? To safely paddle through and ride every wave with peace I must somehow know that my ‘this’ is ‘enough’ and yet I hit restart often unaware, chanting the same prayers for better waters! Must be the enzymes!

    Liked by 3 people

    • I know what you mean, PR! Over time I think we become more comfortable with peaceful acceptance of all that is occurring. It’s been interesting to discover the way peace can become an active, almost radiant feeling when there are no obstacles to its arising. Increasingly I’m able to see and accept in my difficulties the presence of notions I’m unwilling to release, and one practice helpful to me of late has been the simplification of the inner life. Then, like you, I wonder: how else could it really be, anyway!?

      Blessings
      Michael

      Like

  5. Dear Michael, this has such a lovely rhythm to it and I particularly liked the interplay between how destinations may limit our movement and the innuends of being in the now has its shortcomings.
    As I read this, it was if a curtain was being opened, along with the windows and fresh light and air washed upon a seemingly tired and suddenly rejuvenated me. Peace, Harlon

    Liked by 3 people

    • Harlon,

      I love the way you describe this freshening up of your inner presence. We keep moving away from this simple grace, then returning to it, but it’s all a beautiful journey since we’re learning along the way the truth of who we are together… Our destination is movement itself…

      Peace
      Michael

      Liked by 1 person

  6. I bet those enzymes are all in league in there 🙂 trying to make us yearn for something, *anything* different.
    We have a few sayings to keep us here – “just this”, “this is it”, “there’s nothing out there”, and more recently added “there’s nothing in here”.
    Have definitely never seen the barn, if it even exists, and have no idea what I am, no mater how much all those darn enzymes try to explain me to me.
    much love
    Alison

    Liked by 2 people

    • These little phrases we carry, these mantras, are helpful aren’t they? The ones most meaningful to me shift, and some days they are not words at all, but inner feelings to which I return as if I were pulling back memories. These words that works for us, are like keys that unlock misperception, and bring those moments of grace that change everything. Having no idea who we are feels like precisely the way to know… 🙂

      Much love to you as well,
      Michael

      Liked by 2 people

  7. “oh no,” says the enzyme, “but you don’t know my basement, you don’t know my corner. You can’t imagine how all important my one more thing is to accomplish.” The doorbell has just gone off; imagine how that enzyme scurries around its house looking for the most important pile of clutter to tackle before it can open the door?
    The basement water is not embarrassed to meet the water in the sky, is it? Loving every last micro self is the soothing collagen for such furious digestion!

    Liked by 2 people

    • I agree, Marga– loving every last micro self ushers us into that blissful, simple presence that holds every enzyme and drop of water alike. I don’t think the basement water is embarrassed to me the sky water, though it may resist for a time the intermingling the sky water seeks until its bout with uncertainty has passed. Nothing a cleansing journey into the heart’s sky won’t ultimately purify… It is really quite remarkable, that we’re droplets of water with our own sky journeys tucked away inside… 🙂

      Wishing you Intrepid Flying!
      Michael

      Liked by 1 person

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