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The Final Cut

Working on compiling this book of grandpa wisdom,
Harder than choosing which old poems to include
Is cutting off the ongoing output of new ones!

But I do want to get it done,
And I really don’t want to ever do another,
So final thoughts keep building
Eager to rise and shine and make the cut,
A final cut which may never come
As long as grasping mind keeps grasping
For whatever it is an immaterial thing can hold.

But the reason for all these words
Is today I realized something important
Perhaps important enough to stem the tide of poems
If not the grasping mind.

Humans more than anything want security and comfort
And by extension to be happy
The happiness then becomes a goal
Symbolizing all the other basic needs
(while truth/self-actualization may be at the top of the pyramid, this in effect then puts it on few people’s list)
And yet this is what my poems aim for incessantly.

But the truth is enlightenment 
Isn’t about worldly goals and values.

People talk about it like it will be a lasting peace
With endless, effortless happiness,
But this strikes me as more an ad campaign
Than the actual truth.

But I don’t know what enlightenment is,
My hunch being that it is like mercury
Pulled together by the cohesive force of its unity
Into small discreet spheres or moments of ineffability,
Rather than dispersing like a fog or fragrance
Across time and space
Which would thus be knowable
Or at least noticed.

Instead it goes unnoticed by everyone,
Even those supposedly searching for it,
The tiny spheres of momentary peace
Blending into every other,
Since all moments are by nature enlightened,
Until the seamless analog story we tell ourselves
Obscures its digital content.

And as I mentioned before,
Our stories are all about security and comfort
Not truth and its fundamental components.

So, where does this leave the poet, 
A poet who really doesn't know,
Trying to reach others, who really don't care?

Alone, contentedly so, and perhaps at last
Able to make the final cut
See what comes next
In a life without need or time for story.

What is left in such a life you ask?
What comes next.

(12/6/24)

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