Moving on
Perpetual change
Moving again, as always
a new town every fortnight
or few months,
new body every lifetime.
Everything changes, they say
like my shoe & this plastic
pen & the essence
of me & you.
We’re like baubles
on the surface of the sea
shattered by the waves
of our demise.
Nothing holds, there is no
center & nothing to cling to
too & yet we do
and still we die (so what’s
that get us anyway?),
meaning moving again
to my next destination
is part of the perpetual
play of the elements
(earth air wind fire)
& the spirit (mind)
& the dance of being
that extends back to
beginningless time
(which began when?)
& is therefore natural, normal
to be embraced & extolled
(for what else can you do?)
like the secret ingredient
of the sauce of the universe
(without it nothing could be)
and yet … I know this place
so well & have friends here
& it’s familiar & fine
& comfy is king
in my heart, so why
should I go? Because I have
no choice & if I stay
I’ll petrify like that old
pine tree out there from lack
of fluidity, perishing among
these mossy unregenerate
folks stuck in the same
place like lichen for lifetimes
waiting for the universe to come
change their souls because
they can’t do it
themselves.
