Want to collect stones and shells, little space,
many books, dreams all packaged, knowing the
limitations of reality: I cannot sit and stare at a fire,
so gathering driftwood and leaves to construct
interesting things to fill fire-moments, impatient
until escaping from one-dimensional reality as
represented by fire and sand and dinner and eating
and staring – when I want to discover the secret
nature of different reality systems, one physical
reality being too small, my brain is constrained,
mind all tied up, no experience of metaphysics;
New Age Literature enlarges the imagination,
teaching this is a benevolent universe and we
make our own decisions within the choices life
offers, reading esoteric books hoping someday,
dreams and theories will turn into reality…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I don't think of myself as a dedicated collector, but reading your poems reminds me of the many things I do collect but dreams is not one of them; consequently, your poem heightens my awareness. At least I never thought of them in that way. Collecting 'a little space' is also vrey meaningful.