I wrote this poem in 2002, the same year as “My Arrow”. I had been reading the novel Siddhartha by Herman Hesse, and the chapter entitled “Samsara” spoke to me of where I felt I was at that time of my life. I shared it with Marianne, and it must have made an impact on her, because I found two copies of it in a red binder where she had a number of my poems along with some greeting cards I had given her over the years. I did not know this binder existed until I discovered it while preparing to set up our Christmas tree the year she died. Marianne wanted for me to break out of my business and technical shell and let my spirit and creativity flower. Finding the binder was a great gift to me, and I created a booklet of the poems to share with friends that first Christmas. Marianne’s spirit is with me a great deal now as I work on this blog and look forward to Christmases to come.
By a miracle from some hidden source His heart opened and found a new song He became one with the birds and the clouds The trees and the butterflies The waves in the grass and the waves on the sea His friends opened their hearts to him And he found a new warmth and passion in his soul Not for things but the letting go of things. Then the world returned ever so gradually It felt like a new kind of growth Maturity, he felt. He was growing in a different way. And so he built a life And he built a business And he lost his soul, or so it seemed. The death of his father touched him A war in a distant land caused concern There was a stirring in his soul And then again, isolation and loneliness. His mind focused, with only trivial diversions as relief Relationships turned bitter Striving to survive, he caused much pain Much was forgiven him But the pain he caused increased. He questioned his life The serious business and the trivial distractions He has questioned for a long time He is not unaware But it is only questions And there is no change.