Mind Gardens: 2014

Recovered Pieces

We manage our memory;
remember what we will
—if we will. We’re careful.

What we did or should have done;
was done to us that we should not
have allowed or could not prevent
—too hurtful, too painful to own,
today, we covertly, deftly, place
in unlit rooms with unmarked doors,
lest they skew the story we
imagine for ourselves.

In scattered moments of brave,
hopeful self inspection we unearth
the broken fragments, guarded memories
—revelations from our past.
We redesign our mosaic of Self,
make space for the recovered pieces,
which of course were always there.

A Love Letter

I awoke filled with the knowledge of you. It was not a dream.

I stood alone on a high balcony, which overlooked a great expansive, high-pillared hall. I looked down upon a large milling crowd of elegantly dressed people. At first, I sensed your presence among them … and then I saw you—your exquisitely lovely face, the indescribable natural grace of your movements, your pensive gaze that touched my heart—and something else that I cannot know or say or dream away—an ineffable eternal knowledge that we shared.

I longed to be with you, to look into your eyes, hear your voice, to touch and hold you. I knew at once, profoundly, that I had always loved you and that you had always loved me.

It was not a moment in time for time ceased or was replaced by you. I knew we had been joined forever, beautifully, in a transcendent, eternal truth. I simply knew. Yet I was unable to move or speak.

Oh, dear beautiful soul, how I love and miss you so. You are my missing piece.

You moved, slowly, with those I somehow knew were your friends, toward the far right exit of the great hall. You did not look my way. Not once. I knew you would not, could not. I knew there was a reason for our separation, a reason of great import, though I knew not what it was. Yet I knew we would be together again, though not how or when.

My gaze widened in an attempt to understand where I was—where we were. In that brief moment, time had returned. As the crowd moved slowly out of the great hall I strained to see if you were still there among them, but you were not. You were gone. Had you been there, it would have been impossible to miss you, for we are joined in an intimacy beyond all earthly experience or comprehension.

This is my love letter to you, my dearest one. I cannot know why we are separated in time and space. And why I was able to cross over ever so briefly to witness our love remains a mystery. But if by the same cosmic grace that touched me, you are permitted to read these words, know that any love I have experienced here was an anemic imposter compared to ours.

For now, I can only dream of being reunited with you soon … and forever.

I Don't Know Why

I am one among billions
of fish in the Sea.
I don't know why.

I swim with my kind
and go where they go
… that I do know.

We seek food to eat
and try to not be eaten
by those that would.

We all move as one.
We live to survive.
I don't know why.

I am one among billions
of fish in the Sea
and will be

... until I am not

If I Don’t Write About You

It's days' end. At least that's what it should be because it's late and a settled man would call it a day by now. But some days feel like they just want to go on until something gets answered, settled. That's what this day is doing and I know what wants to be settled. I also know that it probably won't be and that I probably won't be able to write about it. The things that matter the most are the hardest things to write about.

This is a big problem for a writer because we convert thoughts and feelings into words and string words into sentences for the sole purpose of saying something meaningful or expressing something in a way that others can relate to—or to sort out something that is not understood well enough yet.

As I said, the things that matter the most are the hardest to write about. So if I don’t write about you, please don’t think it’s because I don’t care enough. It’s because I care so very much.

A Clock of Hopes and Dreams

I’m apt to think the universe
doesn’t give a nod or wink
as we humans claim a New Year
and toast it with a drink.

Galaxies keep on spinning
with their myriad of stars
and nothing seems to change
on Jupiter and Mars.

But it’s not a year in time we mark;
it’s a new chapter in our lives;
a time to think of who we are
and of things we might revise.

It’s a clock of hopes and dreams
on which we count the seconds down
as we anticipate our future
in every village, burg and town.

Within this Great Creation
is a part uniquely ours and
we do the best we can with it
as we wonder at the stars.

Haiku Three

Felt touch, almost missed,
feather lands on still water,
soul passing unseen?

Copyright 2014, Robert D. McKinley