Floating to the surface of an impenetrable water a pulsating mandala whose rings appear and disappear when a disembodied voice exclaims, “Where’s the wind?” and is the last thing I hear before I wake up.
This was another night’s dream that stayed with me as I awoke but this night’s dream brought with it one of those rare delights, a poem that I share with you now.
It was so very long ago,
just yesterday I think
We set sail and followed the wind
Into this very dark and unknown sea
with only a promise fore and aft.
Born in opposition
An incomplete whole
A compromised mandala
Searching for a self
Here not there
A there in potential only
and forever becoming.
Like the wind Psyche’s rings won’t stay put
With the rhythm of the heart
They rise and fall
Rise and fall with every beat
Never solidly there.
Like an on-shore beacon
Of a home not seen
For oh so long.
A Guide-on that gives light
To the there
We set out to find.
And we tack into the wind once again
And run once more toward home
Are we lost?
“Where’s that damn chart?” I say
“What chart?” You say.
“The one you were following.” I say
“There’s never been a chart
I was following you.” You say.
“But I don’t know where I’m going!” I say.
And we tack back out to search for that
damnable wind that will never stay put.