Conversation

Son of an ancient soil
Why do you long so deeply
for a land in which you
were not reared?

I long to know what was
my birthright. To know the
stars and earth from which
my blood first sprang.

Soil is soil and the same
heavens are shared by
us all. Is there more my son
that you seek to know?

To know the self, to know
my self. That is the larger
understanding I seek to have.
Together a story is written.

Gaze upon the dawn or
the setting sun to know the
truth your ancestors and
those of all have known.

In that way I know we share
deep truths that are eternal.
Truths that will persist long
after my body is dust.

How peacefully do you rest
beneathe the sky of your
fathers and mothers? Does it
soothe you to be there?

I rest as though I am truly
at peace. The silence of night
and peace of morning, listening
to the birds sing from tree tops.

But are you soothed?

Yes, my heart and mind are.

I will tell you a truth you
have known, even if you
have never thought these
words to yourself:

You carry the sky and blood
of your land with you always.
From it arose your life. This
truth will be yours forever.

Catacombs

Mistakes
    Missteps 
Foolishness
       
Seasons of our youth

The heart as both protagonist

and antagonist

What more could we say

                   to each other

after a night

of dog-sitting

                      and revelations

If you are ready to listen 
I am ready to speak.

Socrates In The Modern World

I told her that I am not so wise.

She said “How can you say that?”

“Very easily,” I said, “with words.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

This all started because we had been

talking about Socrates. He famously

said that all he knows is that he knows

nothing. We can be reasonably sure

that even if Socrates didn’t phrase it

like that he did say something to that

effect. What hope do us mortals have if

such a vaunted mind felt so confident

about his own lack of knowledge?

If Socrates were alive today I wonder

if he would still feel the same. If he were

alive today there are many other things

which he would be ignorant about, such

as the last two-thousand or so years of

history. What would he think of the

monotheism of Christianity and Islam?

Would he convert to either faith?

Or would he find comfort in Buddhism?

I’m sure he would find Scientology to be

a hard sell. I do. He could easily become

a media sensation and have plenty of quick

one line sound bites ready to be easily

digested by any of the news shows. They

would need to find someone to translate

his colloquial Latin. I don’t think most news

outlets would be ready, but it would give

Latin students new job opportunities aside

from the usual high school teaching gigs

to uninterested students who are more worried

about the breakout probabilities of their skin.

I am still not sure why my friend thinks me

so wise. I am glad to be thought of in such

a way but those thoughts don’t seem to take

into account my shortcomings. I wonder what

was Socrates least favorite thing about himself.

Perhaps he never learned to properly tie his toga.

“I am not wise,” I told her, “I am merely a man.

Because of this my existence will always lack.

This is not the worst fate that could befall me

or any of us, it’s just the state of how we exist.

We live in tiny bubbles floating through air

that could burst at any moment. The miracle

is the continued state of the bubble. It is no

less beautiful because of it’s short life, in fact,

it is more beautiful,” I said.

We sat in the silence of the city, the sounds

of wind muddled with the mass of purring

engines and voices blurring into one sound.

Conversant

Oftentimes there is very little for any of us to say

that is relevant or insightful.

Our nature forces us to fill in space with the sounds

of our voices filling the expanse.

It is no surprise then that we find the company and

conversation of others to be dull and lifeless.

What we rarely consider in these matters are the 

views other have of ourselves.