Personal Transport

Yesterday, January 29, marked the anniversary of Robert Frost passing from this world. He died in 1963. I was a couple months shy of thirteen. His passing was emotional for me because I loved what he did. His poetry was accessible to me. It was also way beyond me, but the stories he told were right THERE. The depth of his thoughts and vision wouldn't strike me for years, but I suspected something there. I just didn't have enough of a world view to find it. Besides, the world was all about me in those days. Sometimes, it still is and I miss things that I shouldn't miss. In this poem to honor Mr. Frost I've tried to emulate some of that for which he was famous and of which he was the master craftsman. I have no such pretensions. Hope it rings something in you.

Personal Transport

A steaming sip of fragrant tea

rouses mornings wrapped in fog,

walking beside the plumed dog

across a plain of memories,

calling the names of old

acquaintances, some deceased,

somehow puts my heart at ease

and draws me back into the fold.

The dog tugs freely at his leash,

reminding me gently of his need,

so I slow and pay him heed,

and wear the streetlamp halo I’m beneath.

The fog is silver, cold, and mute,

while I am upright, mulling there

adrift inside the familiar where

I cannot recognize my own wet boots

through my vague cosseted history

that ebbs and flows in this swirling fog,

yet dances like a happy dog

against the leash of mystery.

No Humans, No Nothing

A deep, almost unbearable sadness has transfixed me this evening. It came over me as I played with Toulouse, games we play every day. It started with me thinking of how I’ll miss him when he’s grown old and gone, or when Jessica moves away into another phase of her life. Toulouse was doing his predictable dog things, keeping the toy from me, growling as if to warn me away but watching me with hope to continue the game. I was filled with affection for him in particular and for dogs and all non-human creatures in general. And then I thought, what if there were no humans to feel and show that affection? What if we were gone from the earth? There would be no poetry. There would be no ears to interpret sound patterns as music. There would be nobody to stare out over a grand vista and feel the power of it, to rise to touch the face of wonder and to feel profoundly grateful for the privilege of being able to simply breathe the miracle of air. There would be no imagination.

This human experience has certainly put the planet’s ability to sustain warm-blooded life in jeopardy. Greed and rapacious human behavior have put everything at risk. The dark side of human nature is producing endless war as the dangerous hybrid of corporate economics and exclusionary ideology grope toward some kind of have and have-not world order. That’s been around forever. It is upon the Dark Side that poetry, music, and enlightened thought crash like waves against an impossible cliff.

If humans were not here, the Dark Side would vanish, as would all that stands against it. There would be no need to uplift the human spirit. The rest of Life would go about it’s business without the slightest hint of worry. We are the creators of Art and the only appreciators of it. If we were gone wolves would live in symbiosis with the deer and elk. Salmon would still have a heck of a time getting around the dams, but they wouldn’t be fished to near extinction. The oceans would heal, as would every thing else. Plastic would become part of evolution. Climate would shift and dance like it has since the dawn of time. And there would be no time, none whatsoever. There would only be cycles of vast complex relationships. There would be nothing to define, categorize, or understand them. Things would just be. Events would never be analyzed.

This made me profoundly sad. Both cruelty and kindness would be gone from the world. All we bring to the moveable feast is our ability to interpret it to express it to each other. We are unique in that regard and our passing would still be insignificant to the rest of the creatures here. We would not be missed. Dogs would still be dogs for as long as they could survive. Perhaps we have taken a path that is doomed to ultimate loneliness. Perhaps we could have nurtured better relationships with the other species. That is one of the reasons that I will always pay attention to dogs and believe they are worth spending time with. Through relationships with animals I can understand my own animalistic nature. Even if it becomes simply wondering about my relationship with Everything Else. It is difficult to understand a world where we are not here to attempt to understand it.

Good night.