There is an urge
to feel
the texture of days
between my fingers
soft, firm, a bit slimy, or just slippery
like grains of sand
and then
after a proper assessment
put them in the bins
marked dark, desolate, normal, or gay
for tomorrow when I call
my horse whisperer
she would ask how
I have been doing lately and
With wrinkly skin
and a feeble mind
the day I crossed
sixty nine
I wondered about
the grand design.
Can dawn and dusk be friends; a continuum; two millipedes, entwined like lovers, caught forever in an embrace, and not be
two opposite poles
of a day,
what is the difference between them
anyway?
One east and one west?
One birth and one death?
Did not Buddha say
opposites are
one and the same,
two sides
of a single frame.
And yet, I suffer
cradling the notion -
one a beginning,
the other, an end.
A secret of fulfilling life is recognizing, and being at peace with the impermanence of its moving parts
Last month, we spent a week in Lisbon. I was there for a work trip, and J., on a vacation. And now, only a month after we returned, I have an urge to go back. It feels like that when we left, and dropped our keys in the return box at the hotel, something was left unfinished.
Perhaps we did not get a chance to have an unhurried evening sitting on a bench on the boardwalk along Parque Das Nações and watch the dusk descend gradually and see lights in the city behind come aglow, one by one first, and then in droves.
It feels like that before leaving, we did not get a chance to feel the spaciousness of time and say a proper goodbye.
Leaving Lisbon was not the same as leaving Geneva back in August where on the last evening we sat on a bench under a tree along the lake and had an unhurried evening. For a few moments, we felt the indefinable grace and connectedness that life sometimes brings.
Leaving Geneva felt like a natural part of being there, and for that matter, of living.
Not so for Lisbon. Leaving Lisbon was a blur; a rush through the airport to the boarding gate.
And now, I feel the urge to go back, and this time before returning, slowly close the gates, hear the latch click, and whisper that it was wonderful to be here and to be with you. The next time, when returning, I will have the sublime feeling that I may not return again, but it is okay.
A secret of fulfilling life, after all, is recognizing, and being at peace with the impermanence of its moving parts - hairs imperceptibly turning gray; joints beginning to ache; skin starting to fray; or, visiting Lisbon for one final time.