The Mechanic
“The Mechanic”
I have taken quiet possession
for aeons in unmeasured time,
of simple and complex mortals;
I drift in like sands falling
forward and backwards,
I reincarnate
sliding easily in and out
unrequited through echoes of breath
rattling into numerous heavenly
and unearthly bodies,
different coloured skins
are all eventually disrobed,
and continually recycled
constantly moving them
like pieces in a puzzle -
a game of jigsaw, revolving
out the “Out” door, evolving
back through the “In”;
Love lost and won, then
won and lost again, karma -
it’s a win-win, somehow
it all manages to fit perfectly
within the abstract, in sync and in tune
with the ever-changing frequencies
required to return back in again;
I
remain, in one way
or another, immovable,
same being – but,
not in the same being,
like a mystery I Am
the haunting instrument
sent to take possession
of what’s caged within,
I Am an emmisary
for something “different”,
alien, ever watching, ever listening,
I Am their impersonal voyeur;
I see them
as hapless small planets
that I command, that I, all alone
have sovereign right to reclaim
whenever I choose to let loose,
I am positioned silently within
each one of them like a hidden code,
to extricate and deliver to their next destination,
some purpose of remembrance
through connection to that other place,
where all is quintessential, unconditional,
expectations of concerns a plethora suspended,
here lies within, something much better,
the internal eternal glowing like a light bulb,
patiently waiting for the "what next" moment,
the view of clear vision through windows open,
crystalline and well-balanced;
through their eyes I watch
while the heart or mind
goes about their individual
altercations, seldom are both
heart and mind in agreement -
I am the reasonable voice
they sometimes choose unreasonably
to hear out, as unconditional mediator -
they think they are hearing voices,
but preferring madness,
they revel in the drama,
they throw at the outside world -
the mind is a monster sometimes,
the heart once stoic, caves in,
it acquiesces
to the mind’s sad state
of dominion;
we are worlds away
from equilibrium;
I am born as if in a dream,
some dreams do delight,
others are pure nightmares
ripping the frail seams open -
like a marriage made in heaven,
high expectations without faith
dissolve, eventually
the veils are torn
to reveal the naked truth;
these vessels I command
break and deliquesce
saltwater, I walk their oceans of tears
without hesitation they float
like a holy haunting towards
the Other’s sovereign sign,
all-seeing I in the palm
a rasing of the I in hand
up or down, commanding
to depart
or stay –
it’s quite totalitarian
in One’s own unique, quiet way;
something bigger
than heart or mind
eventually shuts them down,
calls what dwells within,
the hidden mechanic
of these sombre automatons
now supine, unmoving
laid pale, barren and still;
that would be I,
The Mechanic -
that which dwells within;
for a short while, I am
within them,
I experience it all
the emotions,
the windows closing,
all is now quiet and dark,
without and within;
the Bardo does not become us,
yet it serves its purpose, it lets One back in -
so there we are stalled and held,
we have no other option but to wait
for a little while, where strange angels
bid next who enters and who goes;
I remain in apathetic possession
of what is dead, for a little while;
I am the internal mechanic
waiting for a voice
like an invading commander
with orders to be extracted,
there is existence and purpose
in the saving of the transient
watcher within -
I will not stay for long
in these empty vessels,
the outside barrier swiftly
wilting and decaying,
is well and truly dead;
time is short here -
I am like lightening,
rapid and electric
called back upwards in,
I am reviewed mercilessly
over and over again – it never ends -
what intelligence did I gather,
while assigned covertly
on this mission?
what lessons were learned?
what value do I bring
back upwards in
through glazed windows
taken for granted
forgotten and unseen?
have I failed?
or is there some
small kind compassionate
compensation, some prize,
some gift to be won?
do I eventually win?
and like a free bird
taking flight from its haughty
birdsnest view,
when the disgarded
unwanted vessel is lost at See,
broken upon bedrock,
shattered into sharp pieces
of reflection, I choose
action in thoughts, words, and deeds,
like an anaphora
in an echolocating pantoum
to bounce existence off walls
written like prayers -
ridiculously, I choose
to return;
I fly freely
like a Horus bird
to some new underworld
breathed back into some new form,
emerging through a dark tunnel I arrive
through another larger vessel,
where at the entry a glowing light like a magnet
welcomes me back in –
the fit is tight, I am listening keenly,
I hear strange welcoming and unwelcomed voices,
the terrible duality - joy and sadness, love and hate,
small barbaric wars -
the screams of mothers wailing -
their dreams rip through the fabric of Life,
another vessel containing such as I am
enters through their worldly vessel,
eventually the pain I empathetically feel
like the story of how I came to be here,
is forgotten; in that moment I sense
whether I am
wanted or not, still -
I Am
back in again
I Am
in command
of all your soft machivallian strings,
pulling together your inner worlds
and outer constellations
your small planet
your small humanity
and all its grounding gravity
I Am in,
and you are all mine, again
You are my best possession,
Love
I Am
your lose or win
you are, all of you,
my ride or die
a bit of bread,
a sip of wine
the blood, water and bones of it all
beneath the skin
the next vessel passes like this,
blessed, unblessed, life is wafer thin
still,
I Am
back in
all of you,
again.
I have taken quiet possession
for aeons in unmeasured time
of simple and complex mortals;
outside of time,
what you seek
all of you -
You
will eventually find
Candide Diderot. ‘25
"The eyes are the window to your soul"
(William Shakespeare)
"The eyes are the mirror of the soul and reflect everything that seems to be hidden; and like a mirror, they also reflect the person looking into them".
(Paulo Coelho)
x 33.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment