The Epic in the Works
This is a poem which will attempt to capture on a more literary level my thoughts.
Begun September 3, 1997.
*02* 09.04.97
*03* 09.23.97
*04* 09.24.97
*05* 01.06.98
*06* 01.21.98
*07* 01.22.98
*08* 02.18.98
written 1998

I.

Consider if you will the graceful silky movements
Of the tail of a fish--
That sweet sensation to and
Fro, that incessant rhythm, that
Pleasant pulse. And why does a
Cat not worry about whether it needs
Braces? I have worried, but
Where in essence have I gained? My dog
Sleeps placidly in the garage, and
Snoops around our lot
Scanning, Searching, Seeking
Those intrusive vermin. She cares
Not a wink if she eats from a bowl, or
From a dead rabbit or bird; Her
Breath reeks yet it doesn't cross her
Canine mind if she offends anyone.
I find myself brushing my teeth but
What have I built with it?

To the silliness of a speed limit
Of thirty-five down a four-lane road, or
Why the city would move to reurface
Perfectly Pleasing Pavement
When it is in fact intact, or being
Stuck behind that huge filthy Suburban on a
Street, which seems to only crawl along-to
All of these and more, Sing to me of
My glorious teaching from such
Experiences! Describe, relate to me the relevance
Of what I can't help but to see as trivial.
Most would agree that it is rude
To pick your nose in public; scratching your
Forehead or rubbing your eyes is,
However, another matter entirely.
Why is it then, that this is so? How
Does a hair on the body, so wondrous and
Delicate, become such a grotesque object
After it has been shed? I may find a
Long dark hair in my soup--should I
Be disgusted?

Decide then is the movement I
Have but to do; a focus on
What really matters in, not life, but
Existence, is the containment I
Have yet to envision. But to
The contrary, it may seem, while the
Reasons for these things may
Evade me, a greater truth emerges
From the depths of that
Inner, innate, inseparable
Soul of mine: a reality which
Blinds my ears and deafens my eyes,
Which when played loudly through a telephone
Is the interference we sometimes hear,
Which when packed together tightly
Is the dust collected on our shelves,
Which when poured into an icecube tray
Produces those tiny bubbles within frozen water,
Which is the ultimate power of
All existence, whether in this world or
On some other plane we consider supernatural.

Then there does exist, in effect, some
Global cause for the trivia of day-to-day life.
There does exist a mystery of unfathomable
Proportion and magnitude which may or
May not be solvable. I in truth know not.
Somewhere there is a key to this
Horrifying encryption; a silver lining
Does surround that yonder cloud,
Glowing, gleaming, glittering
With satisfaction of unattainability. *02*But
Lo, the cloud is no different from that
Wondrous San Francisco fog which
Bellows in from the seas like foam
Overflowing from a shaken Pepsi. The mist of
Impenetrable water vapor suggests
Then that for the superiors on the earth-those
Of us who we consider humans-it is not
The lining itself but rather some more
Distant, more brilliant source which we desire.

II.

Define for me, please, the word
Deep. Is it to you the abyss of some tropical
Ocean, or the impenetrable shadow of
A silhouette on the wall? Perhaps it
Is a dungeon in which prisoners receive
Their fate; perhaps it is the taproot of
A redwood tree. Is it a state of
Mind, in which one can consider
Agnostics? *03*Is it in fact the
Wonderful realm defined by
Generalization and philosophy? Let
Us say that we are dealing with a
Rather elusive topic, and probe into the
Perhaps more applicable meaning of
Such a word. In all truth, the time
We spend working to sum up this
Depth is itself deep.
Isn't that odd?

In the same way that infinity is
A concept, so is depth. This exists
On the other side of darkness,
On the opposite face of the cube
Of life. Nevertheless it does exist.
So we might say that it resides
Within the unconscious, as we
Are certainly unaware of any explicit
Definition. But that would be
Inaccurate, as we do acknowledge
Its existence and can use it in context. Furthermore,
Where one can say something deep one
Has defined (implicitly, of course) the
Object at hand. Then where in fact
Does this take hold-is there some
Entirely undefined plane on our cube
Of life, where the coordinates of our
Destination are defined? But fear not, for
All of our planes reside in a finite space
(A simple rule of geometry, really) and
Therefore are defined. Let us presume,
Then, that "deep" for all that it
Is, can be defined but not by my capacity.

But am I not deep?

III.

*04*Ambiguity is so annoying, don't you
Think? But rather, it is so fun and so
Useful and so...prominent! Even
Within these lines of my meager
Thoughts there have been passages
To which I alone hold the key.
Nevertheless you (the reader) will
Try to decipher it, to comprehend
And understand it, perhaps to
Apply it to your life. Only I
Know
The truth to these words; your
Guesses are irrelevant (but inevitable). This
Vagueness which blurs our vison of
Virtually everything, which distorts
Sounds and sights and feelings
Even within ourselves. How then does
Ambiguity come about? I hope to define
Such as the difference between two
Individual interpretations of a single
Thing. Also it could be a confusion-as
To the explicity (or lack thereof) displayed
By any idea, object, or attitude-held
By one person.

Although someday I too will
Determine to once again take hold
Of the key to this piece, to
Grasp that resolute and positive definition
Which lays presently in my soul. I too
Will endeavor to comprehend, to
Understand, perhaps to apply what
Is written here. Then perhaps I will
Know
(In the future) how I once felt: my
Guesses are still irrelevant, but again
Inevitable. Why so, you ask. It is
I believe the nature of any partially mature
Individual to quiz himself at the
Misunderstood and mysterious, to
Try his foot in the quicksand of my
Treacherous ambiguity.

IV.

On the other hand, as you
Know, there is always the immature
Individual (of which the majority of
Our poor planet is composed, and
Henceforth has destined us all to some
Unforeseeable yet fearsome fate) who
Hungers for destruction of the misunderstood,
Cries out "bloody murder" unduly,
Brings a gun to school for his own protection,
Fails to ask questions like "why" and "how" but merely accepts,
Fits (unaware) into his own reserved molecular
Unit of the ocean or sea of incompetence.
It is this individual who yells but
Expects not to be yelled at, who
Brings blood but
Expects not to be bloodied, who
Wants the streets to be in good shape but
Is unwilling to let the construction crew work, who
Drinks into inebriation but
Is a member of MADD (or somesuch similar organization), who
Not only lacks logic but
Thinks logic is illogical.

*05* To what end, I ask on occasion, are
These people, these less fortunate creatures,
These excuses, these "oxygen bandits,"
These that waste and think themselves efficient,
These that cry out for justice when justice is not due,
These that make the economy so powerful,
These that make up the mob,
These that the history books (duly) overlook,
To what end, say I, are they
Expecting to come? Probably not
The same end as they will most likely
Get, I suppose. Probably no better than
The worst of them, the most vile and revolting
Among the masses. No better than he who
Has walked among the Garden and partaken, who
Has stepped through the pearly gates with harmful intent, who
Has slandered his siblings, his parents, his friends, who
Has coveted anything, who
Has done wrong.

These people are not perfect!
No!
They are merely the offspring of perfection,
The side effect of sin, and
The sum of all their 2000 parts.
Where do they think they shall end up? In
Some glorious mansion with their loving
"Father" on a hill far away? Perhaps In
Arlington National Cemetery among the
Greatest heroes of America. Maybe on
The far side of the river Styx. I would
Even go so far as to
Assume that a few, the most
Righteous of the unrighteous,
Believe themselves to in all actuality be
The right hand of their God himself.
Here they are-examine closely. But I say
No!
These people are not perfect!

Too bad I am not perfect either.

V.

To speak of one god in particular,
And to annihilate all doubt of
My religious beliefs, The only
True God, Jehovah, El Shaddai, etc.,
Shall I now direct myself. For our God loves us.
Christians all believe that. I believe that. In
Spite of the fact that we are not all equal-that assumption
Came with John Locke, Thomas Jefferson, and the rest of the
American Forefathers,
That we are all equal: it simply is not true-we all
Have two common traits as human
Beings. These are (in no particular
Order) the presence of a soul and
The fact that God loves us. It truly
Is a comforting thought that
Despite myself and all that is me, I
Am completely claimed in the future.

*06*And often I ponder my own
Reasons for believing-why, exactly,
Do I say to others that some silly
Snake told a naked woman to eat a particular fruit.
This, we believe, is the reason for our fall-our
Sadness and discomfort. An impractical myth.
Right?
I firmly believe otherwise. I cannot, however,
Deny the possibility of that story's mysticism; I
Choose to believe the good book which is
Found in every hotel room nightstand drawer
Across the nation. And it's not just a bandwagon
Situation...the circumstances haven't led me to my
Beliefs per se. I guess on the other hand that, while
It doesn't make much sense to me, the
Whole of my being feels its truth.

VI.

Truth-a very elusive topic in itself. For
What do we know? I say to you, we know
Nothing.
The things we believe true are things we believe true;
All else is the byproduct of our subjective and biased
Perspective on life. Red is red. Blue is blue. Time
Is running in a straight line. How are these statements
True? The truth is, we don't know if they are true. The
Lenses on my sunglasses are tinted-but what
Color are they? I claim that truth is an
Ideal, nothing more. The "T" on a true/false test
Is only how the instructor perceives a certain
Topic. Ideas like facts, certainties, and assurances
Simply don't exist. They are in reality
Nothing.
Reality is the only truth; truth is only an estimate
Of the world in which we live.

VII.

Which is a beautiful place, I might add. Even
With my house covered in a paint of terrible and
Wretched sea-foam green, I can
Watch the navy of the horizon slowly
Wiggle into a turquoise, then move through a
Whisper of green into yellow, orange, followed shortly by a
Wonderful scarlet, a fleshy pink, and a
Warmth which covers the entirety of the body. A soul
Without sunrise is not unlike the syrup and no
Waffle, just half-melted butter. What a
Waste, one might consider, that all of those
Windless mornings are preceded by the
Whining of the sunbeams over the landscape and a glorious
Whirlwind of color and light in the heavens-clouds of
White pass through the dawn, unnoticed by earthen creatures.

Furthermore are the enormous trees which
Flex in the low-density air high above our patio
Floor. Not the kind we have here, the
Fake excuses for immobile, organic monsters, but three-hundred-
Foot tall giants, ten meters easily across.
Fluttering birds find homes in the sky among these
Fields of wooden monoliths. When walking about them, one
Feels dwarfed by the sheer bark on the side, Not to mention their
Fabulous roots which taper off away
From the trail, into the darkness and intermingling in eternity.
Fixation overcomes a human of aesthetics and one often
Finds himself gazing into the network of branches and
Foliage. The coolness of the air and the quietly
Flowing stream along the path are enough to make one
Fall fast asleep, dream, dream, dream...

Not to forget the innocent
Newness of a winter morn.
Neither can we leave out our dear
Nocturnal habitants-owls, mice, etc. Also we mustn't
Neglect the sanctity of the deep sea, Complete with
No light, a thick submarine tank, and a good supply of
Nitrogen and Oxygen. And for goodness' sake
Now, the clarity of a mountain range over the
Nicely painted skies (with a large
Number of foothills in front) cleans
Nostrils everywhere. *07*Pine
Needles are especially pleasing to me.
Never do I wander out into the wild without
Noticing the sheer beauty of the world around me.

VIII.

And how about beauty? What is it, other
Than some opinion of some person? Beauty
Is not a blind operator; its essence is in its
Physical qualities. Beauty is only skin deep,
Some say. Well, if I say you are beautiful, and
I haven't seen your skin, what do I mean? Surely
There is some substance to such an instance. I
Tend to believe that doctrine by which beauty is
Determined is a difficult and ambiguous passage
At best [see section III]. Why, one might
Claim that Beethoven's 5th symphony is beautiful,
While others suggest some piece by Bach or
Handel. What do they know?

And when I use the phrase, "beautiful
On the inside," what does that imply about the
Character of the person being described? Typically
There is from this the general idea that such
An individual is morally good, pleasing
To be around, and compassionate. Often
The concession of the capability of
Deep thought is made as well, and the
Degree to which a person can interact with
Other people
With an adequate amount of dignity, poise, grace, etc.
Yet to someone else, who has
Had a different set of growing pains, who has
Taken different roads and
Asked different questions, this
Inner beauty could give them a sense of
That poor "goody-goody" who does
What is right simply because it is right.

IX.

...It is right. Right? Right. What a
Silly word! *08*Is right opposed to left,
Or is right opposed to wrong: If one is
Wrong by turning left, is he by negation right?
Where does being "right-winged" come from-why
Does the world assume all are right-handed-why
Are the sane ones in their right minds-why
Did the disciples argue about who would be Jesus' right-hand man?
If Shakespeare's claim is true, I'll claim
That the players are right for their roles...but...what
Does that mean? If a boy is right for a girl, what
Does that mean? Stereos have right and left;
Lie detectors have right and wrong. Which is
Really right?
Talk about ambiguity.