What seldom matters we undertake
If you ask me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you:
I came to live out loud. ~Emile Zola
Into This World
We pass through rooms only once, sometimes
more, noting panes of glass in the walls, doors
that might lead us out or back into places we’ve
already been. The house of a life is built this way.
Habitation comes one day at a time and rarely
are two ever the same. Some days we move with
stealth so as not to disrupt rain thrumming out
secrets on the roof. Other days, we thrive to drop
everything we give over to gravity and worse.
I came into this world as unsure as you did,
to find out that seeking a singular path was as
foolish as finding it. Now I see stillness is as
much a journey as destiny might move what
seldom matters we undertake. Arriving at this
was expensive, same as you paid for it.
In my vow of nightly silence, I dreamt
monks taught me to sing, the mute lily
broke the morning like a cannon, spring
eggs chimed like hope swathed in straw.
When I awoke, I lay speechless and drawn
up like a pink prawn left out on a beach.
The house holds all we pass through it.
A life keeps the rooms separated by doors
and hallways, connected one to the other.
Windows let the space both in and out, some
balance of possibility achieved at best.
I remind myself to let my voice as I move
about, to listen loudly with a great thirst.
In this way am I like you and you like me.
We come into this world testing, always
testing, to see if this thing is still on.
Joseph Gallo
December 28, 2009
I came to live out loud. ~Emile Zola
Into This World
We pass through rooms only once, sometimes
more, noting panes of glass in the walls, doors
that might lead us out or back into places we’ve
already been. The house of a life is built this way.
Habitation comes one day at a time and rarely
are two ever the same. Some days we move with
stealth so as not to disrupt rain thrumming out
secrets on the roof. Other days, we thrive to drop
everything we give over to gravity and worse.
I came into this world as unsure as you did,
to find out that seeking a singular path was as
foolish as finding it. Now I see stillness is as
much a journey as destiny might move what
seldom matters we undertake. Arriving at this
was expensive, same as you paid for it.
In my vow of nightly silence, I dreamt
monks taught me to sing, the mute lily
broke the morning like a cannon, spring
eggs chimed like hope swathed in straw.
When I awoke, I lay speechless and drawn
up like a pink prawn left out on a beach.
The house holds all we pass through it.
A life keeps the rooms separated by doors
and hallways, connected one to the other.
Windows let the space both in and out, some
balance of possibility achieved at best.
I remind myself to let my voice as I move
about, to listen loudly with a great thirst.
In this way am I like you and you like me.
We come into this world testing, always
testing, to see if this thing is still on.
Joseph Gallo
December 28, 2009
post-time 2:30 PM
2 Comments:
Love this, Joseph !!
We come into this world testing, always
testing, to see if this thing is still on.
More's the pity that most don't.
Thank you for saying so, Ms. Manx. When we stop testing, we settle. We settle, we wither. We wither, we cease to be alive and aloud in the world, as Zola stated so perfectly.
Robert Heinlein once said through one of his infamous characters, Lazarus Long: Everything in excess. Take life in big bites. Moderation is for monks.
I totally get that. And I totally get what it doesn't mean too. ;-)
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