Buddhism: Poetry And Awakening

An elk in Montana. Taken on the drive to the airport on Monday
~

I have left the state I call home. But I am sure this parting will be only temporary. I will be back to be married in June, to teach then too, and no doubt both Kelly and I will be called home permanently before too long. Yesterday, from the comfort of Kelly’s appartment near Washington DC, I read a bit of the recent poetry of Jay Parini. One poem in particular stood out:

~
“The Prophets”

They come to us from elsewhere

false and true,

some standing in the park on boxes shouting,

some on buses, rising

to declare whatever moves them

to their calls for justice, retribution, mercy,

common sense. They bear

a message from the fouth dimension
of a clearest vision

speaking to an age indifferent to reason.
It is hard to understand their greif,
their anger, and their joy.

A few deciples carry on behind them,

handing out the leaflets,

playing tapes, believing in belief.

Sad, how few words

are true enough to matter,

make us willing to attend a meeting,

answer calls, or rise above the crowd.

Those last four lines speak so truly, the somber truth of our age, our society. Too often the philosophy of our time is:

Just take what is given,

elbow out a niche,

and consume

until your body gives out.

Then get machines to help,

hire out the chores of life,

and disolve slowly into history

until not a trace remains

but shapeless suffering.

What does it mean, in this world, to be awake? Perhaps it means that the prophets become not only visible and heard, but also ubiquitous.

Buddhism: Poetry and Awakening