The Meaning of Life

What kind of small-minded ninny

Must I have to be

Thinking I could give grace to this

This unanswerable posit

Perhaps I, a medium-minded ninny(?)

In my forty formidable years

Might have some wisdom?

Surely it mustn’t be anything more than a slight of words…

Or just Semantics

Fuckoff, I bellow!

For I claim my voice regardless of its universality

And I tire of anti-semantite sentiment

The rhetorically inclined have to know

At some level at least

That high minded questions have no answers for all

Individuals, however, might find one

If they seek the depths within

My truth is that I know a meaning

The discovery

And more importantly, recovery

And uncovery (because I value inclusion and neology)

Of my Self

My years and moments have been awash

With Others

Their fears and judgements and insecurities

Their joys and clown aversions

Their values

And worst of all, their expectations

I’ve taken theirs, and I shed them



One by recognized one

To give my life meaning

Knowing my true self

Before the end



Everyone seems to have their own opinions about the meaning of home

And never yet had I understood

Oh, I’ve lived in lovely places

With lovely people

Nothing ever clicked, so to speak

In March I moved into the home I bought

When first I drove the street, I held my breath

And when first I saw the home, I let go

And when first I felt the land, I wept

I felt Angels

I smelled the pines

And I heard the wind in the trees

Singing its song which now for I long to hear

As I sit here now

Almost a year in

My furry feline family resting on my legs

I feel a deep peace

A sense of belonging

A love complete for structure, earth, and space

I love my home

I found it

The place and the meaning

Welcome home, stone

Spirit rain

With some sense of humility

And Awe

At first recognition

The first drops are felt silent

Under canopy of constellations



Firmly upon flesh of earth

Stands me: A spark plug with infinite gap

Eyes looking first to hands

Then to trees

And rest on stars

As raindrops grace my soft cheek

Kiss my lips

And love more gently than is human

A rain like this is not just a rain

But a calling

A pleading

To live in both worlds

To step through the veil

Where limits of clouds are stories

That raindrops tell their children

I might be calling China 

For all I know, I might be calling China

Not that they would understand

Or that I would

It’s not just the language

Or the culture

But that there are more than a billion of them

And I don’t know who to ask

Seems insurmountable

Truth from that call would be thick to sift

If only They could send a sign

Perhaps I’ll be the lighthouse

One more time

And allow the fates to choose

Not for me, but who for me

And when

Sounds like a chicken shit plot to me

What do I know, I’m the one calling China

And lighthouses are pretty


In my eye and mind

The most beautiful is exposed

Pretense aside

Raw effort and emotion and desire

A cellist pushing her technique for truth

A heart asunder

The harsh wind, the trees

Who forget their limits and bend

Bend to know another day

For rigidity of being is our façade

That exacts Such a price

I look to you

Seeking more than a mask

Seeking your vulnerability

Praying for someone to accept my own

Please, see my beauty

I lay what passed for armor aside

My soul naked, bowing in the harsh wind

Please, see your beauty

So that we may see each other

For the first time