A rotten day.
Reaching high for the cookies,
they all fall to the floor,
Furious. . .
Then, out of nowhere,
a Presence inside,
watching Chuck fume,
radiating deep unconcerned care.
More “me” than me, in a way that can’t be described.
But it’s clear as day
that he’s never gone, merely hidden
—these luminous moments excepted.
Taken under his wing,
basking in his presence,
Who was that “masked man”?
And how do I get him to come back?. . .
And come back he did one evening,
this time staying longer,
showing me more directly
what was possible.
As he took unquestioned control
of my inner world,
all defenses, all worry, all pretenses, all fears
into his complete equanimity—
the boundaries of ‘who I am’
stretched beyond recognition. . .
Finally, he departed as he had come,
but leaving me with a model
and an inestimable gift,
the reflection of which lives
in these poems of inquiry and hope.