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.

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