So I walked up
The mountain to talk
To the wise man
Upon my arrival and
Before I could speak
He launched into a
Litany of complaints about
A hundred different things
Finally I said geez
Old man you need
To get out more
He turned and said
And go where where
Does the wise man
Go to complain when
Everyone else comes to
Him to complain perhaps
You should stay there
As I stay here
And figure yourself out
As I do too
And now I understand
Why the shaman willfully
Removes himself from society
It’s not to think
But rather to unthink
Life has a way
Of winding us up
Setting us about spinning
Like little toy tops
Bumping into the other
On the way to
God knows where that
At some point some
Of us climb mountains
Or walk into forests
Tired of being dizzy
All of the time
Sometimes in our lives
All that is required
Is grabbing the hose
And watering the dirt
With no intention really
Of ever growing anything
But it does give
Us time to think
And sometimes that time
Results in a yield
Harvested in the future
When two things disparate
Come together things happen
Either they mix temporarily
Like boxers eventually returning
To their respective corners
Or they remain together
Like pen to paper
That without the other
Either has little purpose
Be either the boxers
Or pen and paper
Someone to be avoided
Or someone to keep
There is now before
Before this before now
It hangs over me
Like heavy snow laden
Boughs surely to drop
As I walk beneath
All at once avalanche
Reminding me of then
Shaking it off I
Carry on slightly chilled
Pleasantly surprised by being
Able to remember you
Yet keeping you back
There and not here
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 