prose-poem, Pondering

Once when I was a child, hardly bigger than a tadpole, I thought that if I breathed in hard, I could pull in so much air that when I let it out it would bound like bubbles under water, filling all the sky, blue bubbles everywhere, and everything ever born would inhale my breath and breath it into me again, and I thought I’d acquire all the knowledge any of them had – all wisdom –beauty – grace and comprehension –drawn in on the breath of this living breathing earth.

Once when I was so small I could hear the whisper of trees, the roar of rocks,  green singing of the grass, when I knew what our dogs were thinking and where the cat wandered when she slithered out at night, then nothing could hurt me except the separating from the whole: which felt impossible.

Onward I grew into a long-legged colt, whisking my tail as I bolted up the hills and by the time I reached my 15th conscious year I suddenly realized I felt no belonging but only anguish, having lost the wild outreaching climbing clawing beans, the reddening strawberries hiding in the fields, the forest-floor of moss that I’d just thoughtlessly trodden on, smashing the branches of those towering miniscule trees.

And now I’m old again, or maybe young. Now I can sit in memory on the bank of that stream and consider the things that thrive beneath the sheltering trees of infinitesimal moss, ponder how strange it is that our planet should fly endlessly through space, eternally looping round a fiery star that is one of billions upon billions that sweep at unimaginable speed through space so vast and empty that all the burning stars and planets and comets, moons and other debris are like grains of sand scattered before the emptiness of that indifferent silence.

I think how much a part I am of all of it, how small (but oddly large to myself, in my own self-centered skin). I think how time now breathes me in and out, swallows me up and spills me out to further worlds; and that will happen, yes, until I’m nothing but a particle of light, an element, a flicker perhaps of pure consciousness, and then the question comes: will I feel myself a part of Something More? Be awestruck, marvel in wild innocence? Or will I dissolve into a pool, unseparate?


22 thoughts on “prose-poem, Pondering

  1. “Old Sage” by JC Rose
    I like being old- for eccentricity, once disallowed, is permissible now
    from one whose iron will grows transparent; whose tongue becomes docile;
    whose mind joins spirit- and widens the reach of wing span;
    and whose eyes stretch sight to withstand one last extreme:
    the now foreseeable Grand Leap.

  2. With havin so much written content do you ever run into any problems of plagorism or copyright infringement?
    My site has a lot of completely unique content I’ve either authored
    myself or outsourced but it looks like a lot of it is popping it up all over the internet without my
    permission. Do you know any ways to help reduce content from
    being stolen? I’d definitely appreciate it.

    • I don’t think there is a thing in the world to do about copyright infringement and plagiarism on the internet. It’s not like publishing with a “real” (so called) publisher. I remember when I was plagiarized in an article in the New York Times Magazine. I didn’t even see it, but someone brought it to my attention, and there was a lawsuit and I was paid. But I figure… with a blog I don’t expect to be able to protect it. I figure it is “given away” out of generosity. And I know that sentences and paragraphs from my 13 books are quoted all the time without attribution. There’s not much I can do about it. There’s not much ANYONE can do about it! Most plagiarism is never caught, that’s why it’s done so much — that and total ignorance on the part of the theives that what they are doing is stealing of intellectual property. I think the best thing we can do is try to keep our own hands clean. But my heart goes out to you. Good luck. You should put little copyright signs all over your website and add a comment that THIS CANNOT BE QUOTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION and then give a way to reach you to ask for permission. Not much else. It’s just part of the lapse in values and morals — that and ignorance. Most people don’t know they are doing anything wrong.

  3. My dearest Sophy, Please PRAY deeply for Brother Balananda & his 97 yrs young dear Mother Lotte, who is recovering from a recent stroke… Here my messages to JENNIFER OTTO (SRF, LA), (my dearest friend, –  Jennifer has volunteered 40 yrs+ at SRF LAKE SHRINE, Pacific Palisades, CA…she has been a constant inspiration & is truly a saint…You are twins! ) I will always love you in Christ. Your Brenda

      • I can get you a copy. I have a book of about 30 poems. I call it, Falling: Love-Struck, and am looking for a publisher.
        (Anyone know a publisher?) I’ll be happy to print you out one! What a compliment

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