The Selfhood of a Soft World

Two boy's come through the lobby

I'm not good with ages -

those sight reading skills

which parents espouse 

at company picnics

at grocery store checkout lines,

have never been my forte -

Anyway,

the eldest

who's maybe ten or twelve

the one with a gray shirt,

with light purple jean shorts

has on this big knee brace

and it ruffles up one side of his jeans

making him waddle

Beside him must be his younger brother

one to two years younger -

spotting family resemblance

has become a recent enthusiasm of mine

replacing mere people watching

as I sip the crappy black tea

you can buy in Styrofoam cups

from the middle aged Chinese couple

who own the little cafe

in the lobby of the Santa Maria library

Other than the resemblance

what I observe is the care taken

in their upbringing:

they're disciplined kids

you can tell,

they have some unimposing way

I've been sitting here long enough to know:

What racket kids can make in a Library Lobby!

So, the younger is in front

with a pile of checked out books

cradled between his arms

palms up

with energy

with play

He heads for the closed door:

There's two of them, you see

And it's expected that you use the opened one

But there's no pressure

And the older steers the younger

with a knowing smile

Waddling quicker to point the way

His presence a recommendation

Soft and Warm

you can see it on his face

Acceptance and trust

Not corrupt

Or some sickly threat power,

like those purely on the nurture side

of the debate

are bound to read in

And I sip my tea

and feel a glow

it radiates like a ripple

I think:

In ten thousand years

we will be Gods

Hainish emissaries

If we, with deep breathes,

with stolid dignity,

Will

The

Highest

Path

we have access to,

Not minding what happens

but not dulling our sensitivities.

Consequences can make us such scaredy cats:

that raw self-worry

so prominent late at night,

curtails the most beautiful leaps

And you would find yourself

in a soft world

if only you would slow down

to a waddle

if only you would turn away
from Omelas
from sugary safety hording

as independent dying creatures

With Risk

With unswayed forgiveness

Because really,
the full weight of the world

sits atop our soft shoulders

of water and carbon
not unlike a brisk dew

You would know
Pilgrim
If you would slow down

Lyceum Blues

You, caffeinated sophisticate

who sit at firesides

pondering wax

allegedly warmed by syntax

full to the brim

with universal affairs

You, fallacy slayer

master of anecdote

practiced at mediation

articulation

charity

who swears fealty

to nothing

but truth

Tell me

alone

in your study

how do you look?

In bed at night

peaking out at wall shadows

how do you fair?

Have footnote efforts stabilized

that panic in the veins?

Have scholastic rituals

diminished haunting states? 

In the early days

in love
with Spinoza
and Rome

did you really -

did you?

really?-

worry like mad

questioning allegiance

in every direction?

Did you synthesize your madman thirsts

and raw-hurts?

Did you take those deep-darks

those devils thoughts

biting out the insides

clamoring for a conscientious purity,

did you learn to breath steady and full?

Pierce through the world of red-dust,

of popcorn advice?

Does my sourness turn your taste buds?

Yes,

This is what we say

when we are not nourishing the higher parts

when our poor bodies cannot affirm

the dust

which makes its way

around where we play