Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

First, it is our task
to find out where we are,
and that is after we discover
we are bubble men,  and frantic
at the moment to escape each one
and gain the next outside to taste
its succulence, the fairmade bubble girl
who surely will abide behind our
lucid, bubbly wall.

Lucid, it may be,
but not the kind of light that we
might follow readily, for each thin barrier
may yield, but to spirit fists
that form alone with spirit fire,
dissolve with spirit wisdom, gained
from a compassionate desire
and then we pass on through.

We arrive inside the bubble
that we coveted, discovering
our bubble maid, already hammering
the wall that trembles
underneath her blows to take her
into bubble number three...
and so it goes...

How many more?  A score or so;
we creatures of the bubble word
may only just perceive our mission.
Yes, compassion is the navigator
when each bubble breaks 
and gives us yet another one
to hammer on...

It is apparent, this transparent
bubbly, spirit universe in which
we make our lives perform,
is just a purgatorial paradise,
a prelude to one final
effervescent castle, fair--
and that, inflated 
by a bubble god, 
most certainly invisible,
and floating in the air.               
               ~

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