Appearing in a mirage, I wandered the Arizona desert for forty years, always alone, always lost. The heat takes its toll on verbs, not adjectives. There are not two ways to approach dehydration; only one, the one with symbols. Petroglyphs in rock show the way to live without presumptuous glory.
Then, tired of the blistering sands, turning to my later years I longed for the sea. The green currents called. So leaving the Gila mirage-maker behind wound my way to Massachusetts, to watch the sea examine what it created, and to die.
The Wine Of Samadhi
This is true:
In a state of meditation
I left both mind and body behind
And in a trance melded with the flow of the universe,
Surrounding my partially enlightened consciousness.
Unlike wine that can make a man a clown,
As Shakespeare was perfect at describing,
I became a vessel of perfect love,
Thrilled as the time I experienced ESP,
So frightening I had to cut it off immediately like a limb,
So amazed at its truth I can never doubt it;
Two strangers in a room full of people, merging
For only a few seconds,
Wood, metal and water,
The earth turning beneath my clambering feet,
The world talking the language of solid feeling,
But with another intervening.
The Samadhi was momentary too,
I was alone
Yet I was with everybody.
Every joke, every crazy love, every plight of wondrous energy.
Then it left me like a brief breeze
In the loneliest desert.
I changed of course but remained the same at the core:
Tortured by karma but saved by the Samadhi.