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;

Released

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…