Famous Astral Plane 6. Poem by Margaret Alice

Alone this Friday afternoon, lovely questionnaires
to keep me marching through a mental desert,
nobody to talk to, words remain outside my
head, nothing getting past the glass screen
that sprang up between the world and me,
dare not allow my mind free rein, galloping
towards the abyss, must steer clear of the
Black-Hole nothingness, sucking
in my light with no escape

Watched Phantom of the Opera last night, the
story never reached me behind this enclosure
where quiet is everything, is this the famous
Astral Plane we have to pass through on our
way to higher spiritual dimensions, is this an
inevitable part of being human? Reading
Buscaglia and his complaints against
Western society, I am glad I have
moved on

To New Age spiritual books, sustenance when
faced with irrational civilization, couldn’t make
it without these strong bulwarks against
the storms of entrenched idiocy,
reducing people to their
shortcomings…


My Buscaglia Life 5.

Still facing unending lists of French questionnaires,
no way can I do a hundred of these, first read my
mail, laughed about the pastor sending e-mail from
hell – apparently – to his shocked wife; washed my
hands several times, my mental gymnastics were
interrupted by well-meaning colleagues hi-jacking
luncht, I’m out of kilter, my compass upside down,
hanging from the rafters of reality, cannot fill these
magical moments of blue sky with reclining fat-lady
clouds with routine replies to idiotic questions, what
shall I so to fill up the time legally, how to escape the
mental threat of bereavement, realizing my Buscaglia
life is reduced to little bits of nothingness where only
the sense of sight is allowed to operate, staring at a
screen, dead words without meaning, I’m not ready
to become a machine, I want to hang on to my tree,
to feel and frolic, dance and sing, be more than a
pair of immobile eyes glued to boring things…