This is a peculiar temptation.
To read a sign stuck on a mirror saying:
when you give up the struggle you die
And to then think…
That was not quite the case
when I learned to float
My struggle to be an island nation of my own
on a sea
on a planet
in my own solar system
has been my idea of someone else’s idea.
As I give up the struggle,
I cease to be oppress-able
and complete the undertaking
spanning twelve and a half lifetimes
including this one,
to surrender from the notion
Today, I was forced out of a little room painted white,
the one with the faint undertone of blue.
In the room
stood my chair by a window.
And from that room
my view of the world
as it collapsed around me
to leave me standing in a new nation.
And as I groped for my former walled existence,
I argued for my right to crawl back into it
because here I stood
from other people’s bare naked feelings
that wandered through the meadows willy-nilly,
through that wide opened world that once housed my little room.
I had grown to love seeing through a window
in a wall,
abutting three other walls
At this time I don’t want to give up the struggle
so I struggle
to stay in the struggle.
And just now
I have become that meadow
on which my former room
And in the early mornings,
I have left my deep dreamless sleep, to awaken to the half-sleep time
under wide blue skies with green,
green trees dotting the green,
I commune with other people’s half-sleep dreams from that place.
The occasional visitor wanders in close
and sits next to me. Sometimes I take his hand.
I imagine byways carrying us back and forth from our fields,
keeping darkness at bay.
I accept this meadow
as much as I can bear,
as I accept how my head gets turned round and round