the haunting

I am haunted by the truth ...

For years I sought this seeming ghost

of how to describe reality as both

spirit and matter ...

I read books, studied teachers,

prayed, meditated,

did exercises

I found my way to the

School of Life’s Mysteries, which surrounded

my individual biography, and

gave myself to what it taught ...

surrendered to the secrets 

hidden in my own tale ...

following their lead


I still dreamed dreams,

of which some turned out

to be maps to the future,

not just fantasies

At the same time I am haunted by myself

who am I

what am I

why am I

how am I

when am I

where am I

am I?

the worms of dark feeling

devour the traces of my best self

and turn me into food for my “darker other”

Lucifer’s Pride haunts me too

Shouldn’t I save the world,

take home every homeless person

only eat what starving others eat?

Why should my life be good

and full of laughter and love

when so many other-Thous

everywhere suffer?

The Father of Lies too

rides my soul, ...

can I distinguish his tangled roots from my own

Do I know the TRUTH!!!!

What is that?

Ancient Wisdom says:

we are the small world, which is

a duplicate analog of the great world

in us resides a version of the Good,

of Christ and the Holy Mother ...

my soul is a musical instrument which

I can learn to play, by deciding where to lean my

attention, and what to create with my intention

do I study worms and roots, light and darkness

seek fame, seek love, seek revenge

or ... do I

hide in forgetting, in insanity, in death 

or in sleep ...

each night I do this, do I not ... sleep, die a bit,

forget and wander in the halls of madness where

impossible dreams seem all too real

then there is the stuff of my mind

ideas, concepts, generalized concepts and

mental pictures - all borne and driven on seas of

invisible feelings with the storms of fear and anger

and rage and terror ... sadness sorrow and hate ...

unless I dance and sing on my happy feet,

and smile and hug and play with puppies and

kittens, or get drunk with old friends, have an affair

with someone where I work ... plot to blow up anything

within reach of my raw passions against ...

to be human, is, as Walt Whitman said:

“I am multitudes”.

and to be haunted by all my possibilities

meanwhile living in the deranged house of

cards that is my biography,

my persona tale,

little of which I

control, some of which (or more) I would

change, unmake, do over ...

there are so many kinds of thoughts

so many shades of feeling

so many worms and roots

so many angels and demons

so many gods and causes and ...

sunny days, where nothing happens

and I can have a smoke or a drink and just

watch the clouds paint the sky ...

just as my dreams, desires, wants and needs

paint the life of my mind ...

He touches me you know, Christ touched me.

more than once ...

He sang of love and forgiveness and

healed me in those wounds I most needed healing

more important ... He sang that I was just fine as

I was ... there was no need to be better

or more

or slimmer

or faster

or smarter

or any kind of other -

I was loved just as I was.  

and, truth to tell,

and be haunted with:

so are We all.