The core of the self is a magnet
which pulls in the physical world
and the stuff of human nature,
good and bad.
Once trauma is caught there, it is hard to dislodge,
the power of the magnet being strong

In this space occupied by “I”
is sunlight, water, air and earth,
also a little child who remains worried and fearful,
petrochemical sludge,
viruses and bacteria,
a need to love and to be cherished
and a desire to avoid pain

In this space is pollen, sunlight dispersed in a different form,
and seed, infant plants,
who blow over high desert and grassland
past cows and squirrels
and fish finning in ponds.
In this space is intelligence
and strategies designed to enable survival
but which may actually sabotage survival
In this space are tools, ever more powerful,
with which we strive to dominate our world
In this space is art, and sensitivity

In this space is air,
sometimes still, or moving steadily or gusting,
or appearing as wind, at times fierce,
which carries spirit from the far corners of the past
into the space of the distant future
Our small parcels of light
meld with the brilliance that streams from our star
and our drops of water join the ocean

We may clothe those winds with fantasies of reincarnation
in which we are kings or queens or famous scoundrels
However hard we work to clear our minds,
sometimes we backslide
into bizarre, irrational ancient mythologies
because their fantastic fictions,
tailored to the human psyche,
ease pain and
give hope

But these fantasies
take us out of the here and now,
which is the only place one can be
Even the immortal soul is transient

Deadly pathogens and fatal hostilities
are fed by the greed, anger and delusion
which reside in all human hearts
We are like the Tasmanian Devil
When we feel threatened,
In this universe which, some claim, is made of love
we viciously bite each others’ faces

Like orange lava,
pollutants well up
to run uncontrollably downmountain
toward cities and towns
which fill with ash and sulfurous smoke

Meanwhile, the need to love and be loved
embraces all persons’ identical craving
and pain shatters against the jagged afflictions of others

Mitch Grabois has been married for almost fifty years to a woman half Sicilian, half Midwest American farmer. They have three granddaughters. They live in the high desert adjoining the Colorado Rocky Mountains. They often miss the ocean. Mitch practices Zen Buddhism, which is not a religion, but a science of mind (according to the Dalai Lama). He has books available on Amazon.

You can find more of Mitch’s work here on Ink Pantry.