Tuesday, October 9, 2012

A Circle in the Square

A Circle In The Square
The grid is white
The grid is grey
The grid is black
I am here in the grid:
The grid that unfolds in front of me;
The grid that orders
The grid that holds at bay the natural order of things.
I walk down one of the many corridors of the grid
Corridors divided by concrete and steel
Jutting from the earth
In smooth straight lines refracted from their surroundings.
Like circuits on a board
The corridors transmit their thoughts:
Transmit their people
To their intended destinations.
Elated by a little success
Downcast by a little failure
They judge according to the grid
And move according to its design
The subtle curves of their bodies 
So out of place in their surroundings,
Walk along the straight lines and sharp turns
Walk along the city streets.
I am caught up in these city streets
Reminded of what I’m missing
Finding solace only in my memories
Of the roots, the leaves and soil…

But now I enter the square
And there alone stands a tree:
The tree is green
The tree is brown
The tree is alive.
A tree with disorderly bark
Flowing of its own initiative.
The tree that curves
Like the bodies that surround it.
The tree that whispers to the passers by
Of something that they’ve forgotten.
The tree that sinks its roots into the soil
That brings its dark waters to the brightness of the sun.
Could these city dwellers  
Imagine what it meant
For a tree to suck the rain down from the sky?
Do they not see how the rain is lost
Falling on the unforgiving pavement
And disappearing down the gutter’s drain?
I am exiting from the gutter’s drain:
No longer do I live as these memories,
No longer do I live as this longing
A longing that carries these thoughts
Forth towards a future that they desire
A future always failing to resolve their lack.

I am born anew…
Now I find myself as these surroundings and what they frame
The wondrous being that stands here in the sun’s radiance:
Like the present materializing from the formless One
And casting the past into its oblivion
This tree stands among the destruction
Of concrete, pavement and order
Arising from disparate light, water and air
To reclaim what was paved over.
As this tree
I am released from the desires the grid has imprinted upon me;
Released from the past to which it holds me;
Released from the future towards which it presses me on;
Towards the boundless identity
That blesses these eyes with the love of what they see.
The tree reminds me why I laugh.
Laugh at the fleetingness of the grid’s construction
Laugh at the nothingness at which it grasps
Laugh at its judgments that attempt to divide all they touch
But most of all,
I laugh at myself
For letting it take me away…

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