We spend so much of our lives
imagining we are en route,
always on the way to somewhere
if often not certain where that
somewhere might be.
It seems we intensely dislike
not being in motion, not focused
on the future, the destination,
never wanting to be, seeming
to dread being static.
Yet the irony is that we,
at any given moment, are
never en route anywhere
for we are, in each moment
if we are in that moment,
exactly where we are,
en route to nowhere.
Today I am going
nowhere at all
and that is
the journey
I need to take.
Later I will go
nowhere,
a shorter journey,
ending up here.
It will be
a different here
than the one
I left, but
both here
are perfect
in their respective
nows.
In this moment we, the two of us,
are here in this precise place
and there are an infinite number
of places we might be.
But we want to be here,
just here, nowhere else.
We are aging, but in this moment
we are exactly the right age
and to be younger or older
would do nothing for us.
When I curl against you
as the morning light struggles
to pierce the pulled blinds
and stroke your arm
my fingers are in the only
place my fingers want to be.
Here, now, together.
It is hard,
painfully hard
to realize
your guide
doesn’t know
where you
need to go.
And the one
who could guide
you isn’t
there, doesn’t
know you
at all, had
you when
she could
only place you
for adoption.
So you wander
guideless,
self-guided,
deeper into
the unknown.
We marched
for hours
going
nowhere
We sat
sweltering
in classrooms
pretending
to learn
Six weeks
later
they told us
we were
warriors
Our hair
could begin
to grow back
Heaven
save us
from this
endless war,
from
ourselves.
Do not ask me
to recite the Dharma
When I am breathing
there is only breath in
and breath out.
Be like the poor man
lost and wandering
going nowhere, each
breath the only breath.
Having nothing, simply
being.
A reflection on case 3 of the Book of Equanimity Koans
It should give you pause
to consider that, in the midst
of boundless greed, enmeshed
in the near cult of self, rushing
always to go nowhere quickly,
certain the problems of the world,
can be solved tomorrow, using
resources that may never be
replenished or substituted for,
when we are dead and buried,
we will be the fossil fuels
that future generations
rightfully shun in horror.
In the interstitial moment
between birth and death
a universe comes into existence,
something that never before existed
and existed always, new
and well-known, unseen
and visible for eternity.
Measure it well
for it is incapable of measurement,
and ends without warning
and precisely on schedule.
In the momentary breath
that marks the transit,
we proceed nowhere
and cannot return to where we began.
Reprised from March 27, 2016
I am compiling a list, ever so slowly,
of places I still want to visit,
and you may be surprised to find
that Paris, London and Madrid
are nowhere to be found.
It isn’t that they lack beauty, charm
and countless things to see and do,
it is simply that they have been usurped
by other places commanding my attention.
I’ve been to Zeeb and Pawpaw, if
driving by on the interstate counts,
and I am certain in Michigan it must,
but I do need a good laugh at times,
and Yeehaw Junction just might
satisfy my need perfectly, and, failing
that, there is always Surprise and Carefree,
and if I want to lose myself for a while
Nowhere is waiting patiently for me,
although I have heard it’s a bit hard to find.
No, what I really need is Happy Corner,
and from there, as I age I know I must
eventually, end up in Truth or Consequences.
The moment you are certain
that you know where
you are going
is the precise moment
at which you become totally lost.
The moment you realize
that you have little idea
where you are and none
about where you will end up
is when you found yourself.
At this moment you are here
which was there a moment ago
and will be there a moment from now
even if you do not move, so it
is easier to say you are nowhere, always.
an old writer and his words 