Читать книгу The Forging and the Death of a Reflection - Dr. Peter J. Swartz Swartz - Страница 4

Somewhere between awkward poetry and fractured prose,

between lost and valued,

lines want to form so to be cast about.

They need to be known.

Someone’s arms need to make that cast,

so that the end of the Line comes to rest on a still enough pool.

The cast Line needs to be visible.

It needs to create a ripple moving outwards on the water.

It seems a very long time since any real try at that for me.

Maybe never, actually.

But the cast needs to happen soon.

The Lines can’t stay all tangled up in here for a lifetime.

It’s not sustainable.

And it’s painful.

As I age, I need to find my own arms to make that cast.

And perhaps there is a unique place from where to cast.

Yes, it’s this present moment—a refuge of sorts.

Caught between the silly importance of the self,

and the gaping emptiness of fear,

it is all at once both sacred and mundane.

And it may be all that I have to stir action,

or spawn compassion, or find myself,

or better,

to even lose myself—lose my own reflection.

This present moment allows me the freedom to untangle and toss a Line.

It reassures like large arms around small shoulders.