Our Insignificance
I capture this rectangle
of black and white,
as if it can be framed
by my Instamatic camera.
I freeze surface scenes
but not what's below,
not what the next moment holds,
not what develops in the acid bath.
A ship may sail on land
if I double expose a frame.
A businessman may strut the sky.
Once I juxtaposed a city on a sea.
When I blink, the city sinks
and lands on sand. Yes, I am
a magician of motion
when the shutter clicks.
I shoot a strand of hair, a blade of grass, a handful of air. Life wiggles there.
I see it move.
I wave my wand,
chant an age-old spell.
All is frozen
when I push the button down.
I airbrush out the flaws,
blow up what I want.
Now you see it.
Now you don't.
No, I won't tell you secrets
of my tricks. I won't
disillusion you about clean,
uncluttered places I have been.
I have also watched the rush
as city feet crack concrete walks.
We embrace the magic of open space.
We clench our fists
when we recognize
our own insignificance.
Yin Yang - Tibet
I make my pilgrimage to Lhasa,
cradled like a lotus flower
in the Himalya mountains.
Yak butter candles burn
behind doors of monastaries,
the smell of resurrection.
One red-orange door fuels my passion
for the yin-yang balance
of Tibet's life after death.
That closed door calls forth brown earth, blue water, yellow fire, strong winds, thin air and the consciousness of creation.
My hand yearns to tug the leather strap, enter into centuries of spirits who linger behind weathered wood, waiting for me.
Still, I hear shadow stories on wind,
the way life was back then when Dalai Lama and all Budhists prayed for enlightenment.
The knot of eternity is never-ending,
even for this traveler who journeyed far enough and high enough through Tibetan doors.
I circle this monestary three times,
prostrate myself on the threshhold,
plant a prayer flag for freedom.
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