Living Proof

author’s note:

After finishing the poem below, I realized I could indeed support my thesis with a mathematical proof (see graphic above).
 

LIVING PROOF

My proof, I know
is not so obvious—
being as it is, invisible—

nonetheless, I will argue
we get better, therefore…
so does life—

get better, despite our regrets
over blind decisions—

in our regret, we fail to see
how life gets better
as age breaks us down—

gets better, as we lose and lose—

I proclaim: I must’ve gained
more than I have lost
because I wouldn’t want
to begin again—
at least, not
where I began.

Yes, the ambulations of this life
contain some weird wonderful magic:

no matter what I do, where I go
I keep heightening
—deepening—

somehow in diminishing
I grow—!

But how can I say I see
such states of being
when this magic hasn’t yet
healed my sight?

Well, though I’m still purblind
I can sometimes detect
the truth
in the dark—
when I use the darkness to feel,
because in deep feeling, I know
for certain: beyond reason:
I am closer to becoming
the one I hope to grow to be.

The one I now know I can be
despite appearances
to the contrary:
because in deep darkness, I can see

and in seeing myself
I can see you too:
see you’re also taller
…deeper.

So therefore, I say
we keep getting better
as we keep losing—

maybe we’ll finally
lose enough
to finally see
how we have always
only gained.

© 2012, Michael R. Patton
searching for the new mythology

My Best Belief

author’s note:

The above illustration is based on a dream—a sleeping dream.

Since dreams don’t lie, what I believe must be true: we are indeed climbing.
 

MY BEST BELIEF

Sometimes when I stop for air
I then have time to feel my fear—

naturally, I’m afraid—
climbing as I’m climbing—!—
apparently, I grow smaller…
as I ascend—ever
smaller—

yes, the greater
altitude gives me
perspective…

nonetheless
when I look down
my heart—
      so instinctual, so animal—
drops

and then…when
I look back up
my tiny eyes see
only cloud—

but who among us
can truly say
where we’re headed—?—

without pretending to be God—?

I can only tell you: I woke up
and found myself climbing a hill
that then became a mountain
when I woke up—

not knowing
what else to do
(still so drowsy!)
I kept on going up—

but now, as I see it
we don’t really
have a choice—

however,
I no longer
pretend to understand
whatever would be God.

Anyway, to continue
to live by my beliefs
I must push myself
whenever I stop for air
and again feel nearly
overwhelmed by fear

so I tell myself:
“Maybe when I’m high enough
 that animal fear will…give up
 and finally fall away!”

Though I also honestly admit:
maybe not.

In either case, as I continue
crawling up, I hold secure to me
what I believe
may be my best belief:
   no better way
   to endure this life
   than embracing
   my only choice—!

© 2012, Michael R. Patton
dreaming steps

author’s note:

As they say in the movies: “based on a true story”.
 

BRIEF WINGS

For a moment this morning
I again felt those wings…

beginning when
I saw a small bird
hopping among some leaves
then in a flutter, in a breeze
it disappeared—

though I walked on
I could suddenly sense those wings again—
opening slightly—just a bit more than before—
prying my shoulders blades
another inch up, subtly broadening
the band of my chest—

but I dared not push the wings
to unfurl more fully—
in the past, I’ve used impatient force
and lost and lost again

so I continued on
down the street
keeping the same pace,
trying to be nonchalant

even when I felt a little lift
as the wings yawned open
to the first pinion joint

—sprouts drowsily waking—

no, I did not
try to spread—did not
jump into the air—no—!—
I tried not to hope—
tried not

to desire what I desire so much—!

Yet despite my careful balance
after only a few breaths
the wings collapsed back
as if I’d only dreamt them
at the long night’s end.

Yes, I know they’ll return—
but I can never guess how long
between now
and the next blessing—
from past experience: maybe months
but maybe tomorrow.

In any case, I know only too well
I can’t wish them open—I know
I can’t spur the movement
by meditating upon
another hopping sparrow…

so instead, I try
to distract myself—I try
to forget my fervent wish—
after assuring myself of what I know
to be true: one day I will fly—
though I can hardly believe
I will, I know I will—I don’t know
how far, how high, how strong—
I only know I most definitely will:

not fly all the time, no, but I will

because I have wings—still so small
you can’t even see them…still so faint
I can almost convince myself
they don’t exist…can almost

ignore them growing
under my shell.

Meanwhile…

to keep my heart
from hurting, I tell myself
I’m perfectly content
with this long, tedious
wonderful walk.

© 2012, Michael R. Patton
searching for the new mythology

Arcs, Not Arks

author’s note:

Mythological traditions all over the world contain stories of a big flood.  But that makes sense…

“Flood” is a part of life.
 

ARCS, NOT ARKS

When the voice said “arc”
the builder heard “ark”

and so saved his family
by hammering together
the fort of a big boat—

not realizing we actually
needed an arch
to bridge the waters—
to bridge one side
to the other:

a means to connect
black and white
shadow and light
day and night.

Even so, we respect the builder
for his trust, his courage, his sincerity
under the hammer of mockery—

like so many of us
he accomplished much
in his wrong-headedness—

give us credit

but now let us learn
from our brave mistakes—
let us learn a better bravery—

the answer is made clear
after every rainstorm:
when the arch spans the sky
we are told to join
right to left, left to right—
one side to the other—
both to each other

in a band of all colors.

So now we no longer
have an excuse
for our misunderstanding:
no excuse for building
arks that can no longer save us—
no excuse for not building
arcs that can.

© 2012, Michael R. Patton
searching for the new mythology