Go West Young Man

and read some books with the wrong ideas

then make up your own mind

and travel

into the fiery blackness of your own imagination

that doesn’t bend for anyone

Move with a sudden intensity

that shakes the very ground you stand on

Go West Young Man

and carve out a piece in the universe with the dust you were made from

like Prometheus, the father of worlds

eat the hate and enjoy the love

like an immortal being

delight in the darkness that makes it impossible to see the light

Somewhere

someone

feels like they can’t go West

because this move

might not make sense

the sun sets

with its back against you

you can follow it

but it won’t follow you

You will be Alone

where the shadows vanish.

Go West Young Man

where there is no law

but your own

Where people who need to feel important never go

there is no applause

there is nothing there

only a place you can call your own

Go West into something

that is hardly ever known

it is not for well-ordered lives

but for those who wish to break plates

and laugh

I’m going West.

My mother says “hi” to other people

with kind enthusiasm

as we walk under white puffy clouds

around the neighborhood

We see the neighbor’s dog, drooling

“He’s just a puppy,” my mother says

“Mom, he’s an old man; that’s old man drool.”

I notice that she is so fragile and small,

so loving and eager for life

she watches people and notices things

“What are you going to do, later today?” She asks.

“I think I’ll read Hegel.”

“Oh, you mean, Hegel.”

“No, Hegel; this is why I can’t talk right mom.”

“Oh, stop,” she laughs.

Growing up happened so fast

she was a good mom

and when we are home, I read her a poem

and my dad sits down quietly

listening to my words

I do wish I could bottle these moments

it’s a shame not be to be able to have them forever

we drink them in

and get drunk on merry times

they don’t last

and we don’t know them

until they’ve past

family is something we are searching for

and we know the degrees of separation

like the divide between close friends and those that are far away

it’s a Grand Canyon between us and the rest of the world

and family is close

sometimes, closer than we’d like them to be

we get hurt

when we see family go through sickness

and there is a sadness we have not yet discovered

So, I walk with mom, around the neighborhood

enjoying the moments at home

that won’t last.

I have hope now

like Samson

given back his strength

the world is weak

and few men are really strong

and the things that used to trouble me

no longer do

when you have the truth

and that truth is but a small slender thread

you can sow and sew and so

it goes

and the world does not allow you to explain yourself

it will be mesmerized

and that’s what it wants

to be entranced in a dream it does not understand

I have the secret now

knowledge and power are special things

they aren’t facts or positions

in the world

they exist outside of it

If you exist outside of the world

you start to see yourself

as god

and this awareness is granted to few

Many

will later say you were delusional

but the world is operating from illusions

it cannot understand

and their doubt

turns to disappointment

when the illusions fade.

the mountain inside is growing

it lays quiet

far more silent

than a whisper

and the wind that presses against it

is absent from its mind

towns are built up against it

“How will we use this mountain?” they say

their time, is not the mountain’s time

they build up themselves

moved by their positions

while the cold hard mountain doesn’t move

it lasts

where rain and suffering

open its depths

to the truth

of time.

There is something timeless

about traffic

washing through

wet streets

and I’ll be listening to it

when I’m an old man.

I’ve been protected

on this bed

resting

my whole life

I can’t rid myself

from it

even with its crooked frame

and broken springs

It’s old

in new apartments

and all of my good ideas

come from it

I’m a bachelor

so, I eat my meals in bed

I create life

on it,

watch movies

from it,

and love my lumpy mattress

If I can sleep through life

and dream

and those dreams waken

something real inside me

I’ll get out of bed for that

but until then

I’ll just lie here

and rest

the things of life

don’t interest me

magical mornings do

with the sun shining through

and I’ll die on my bed

waiting for that.

My old man asked himself an honest question

but didn’t answer it

“Why are dysfunctional people attracted to me?”

I went to church

that evening

hoping to talk to someone

new

I am a year older than the youth pastor

and he jumped

when I spoke to him

“How’ve you been and what have you been up to?” I asked.

He told me about his humble job

of conserving electricity and managing the grounds

about coming from worldly origins, and changing his name

He spoke of Jesus and he was a nice guy

but I couldn’t talk to him

He was too busy being a nice guy

I went to the food table and loaded my plate with broccoli

avoiding the chips and soda

I looked around the room of young people

10 years younger than myself

feeling like I had stepped back in time

to a place I didn’t belong

there was a young man, sitting at a table, with his girlfriend or wife

So, I decided to introduce myself

he didn’t want to talk

we were different

and a guy named Andre sat down next to him, instead, and started talking

they busted each other’s balls and then exchanged numbers

I was disillusioned

a nice guy walked over to me with an exaggerated, smiling face

“Do you hike?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s exchange numbers after the service!”

“Okay,” I said.

I was disappointed in myself

I didn’t like who liked me

Right before the service ended

I snuck out

and when I got home

my dad was talking to a fat man with hair down to his waist

“Rich just won’t leave me alone,” my dad later said.

And I sympathized

“The nice guys won’t leave me alone.”

the strangers that we know

wander in and out of our minds

we see them

and they don’t see us

it’s like a dream

where some are awake

and some are asleep

the past is a dream

that I remember

but others have forgotten

this blend of reality and fiction

imagination and longing

is a different dimension

like the voices inside our heads

that tell us things that aren’t real

a dream inside a dream

a disguise where we can hide

I am a telephone call away

but nobody calls

in the night

I hear ringing

but it’s only my alarm

waking me to another

sunshiny day

where the shadows don’t see me.

I’m a lover of being alone

and I have come to be continuously disappointed

in the company of others.

It wasn’t always this way

but as we get molded into things

that cease to be alive

and we escape on a mattress full of grapefruit peals

and Chinese food containers

and movies with the same ending

getting away

gets old

Escaping

used to be easy

but now it takes so much more

to forget.

I don’t want to be known.

I don’t want to be understood.

I don’t wish for a better time.

Amnesia

is preferable

and I think of escaping, life

Sleep

is what I look forward to

a little death

every night

when I cease to exist

when there is nothing

and what beautiful nothingness.

It’s 6 in the afternoon

when I go for a walk

in the woods.

I feel like a zombie

numb and awkward

entering the wrong habitat.

There is no one there

and the trees are making sounds

sharp, groaning, cracking, sounds

the leaves are moist, yellow, and brown

falling to the ground, to the sound of silent music

the air is damp

when I start walking

and the red backed beetle

looks up at me

spiders weave their webs

and the falling sunlight flickers through the trees

in a different world

Suddenly…

I want to see family

and I leave the woods and visit home

and home is happy to see me

the dog pees on the rug

my parents ask me how I’m doing

and I’m doing very well

because I went for a walk in the woods.

Luck

is a funny feeling

it doesn’t seem like we should have it

and we suspect

to lose it

but

it shows up

again

unasked

for no apparent reason.

There is no better feeling

than being lucky

it is one of those rare commodities

that no one can find

until it is stumbled upon

like gold

few can hold

like the mother load

where currents run thick with streaks

that can’t be beat.

You can improve your odds

and fix the game

but when you are beaten

by someone with luck

you know you never had it.

Luck is a wonderful ally

when the world is trying to get at you

it is a force that cannot be controlled

like chance

where the odds don’t matter

Luck is making the right moves

when you were too ignorant

to know what to do

If you have reoccurring luck

there is nothing better

it won’t stick around forever

but if it keeps visiting

count yourself lucky

Luck in life

gives you opportunities

that you would never have taken

You get fired or your world collapses

and you ask Why?

Because Luck is working

it won’t tolerate things

you would tolerate

and I’ve been lucky

many times, in my life

Most of it has been the ideas

I’ve stumbled across

or the few friends I’ve had

when the opportunity presented itself

I’ve always grabbed it

because luck

moves in cycles

like waves

that push you to dry land

or pull you out to sea

Luck requires acceptance

it’s knowing when to exert force

and when to allow it

Luck is letting go

and watching how bad the situation can get

You are being moved by a force

you don’t fully understand

circling

down the drain

to someplace else

where nothing is stable

no matter how stable

it seems.

Our luck is changing

as we change

and there are higher levels

of understanding.

I like to observe it

and wonder

where it will go

What will it do

next?

this professor

who taught astronomy

was overweight and wore a knitted sweater

He had a PhD in astrophysics

and I could tell that he loved his subject

by how he said Andromeda

the girl sitting next to me

made fun of his sweater

“He wears it every single day

look at the stains

look at the holes.”

it was her way of making small talk

when the lights went out

I liked him

immediately

and she didn’t look half-bad in the dark

but I kept hearing what she said

and her criticisms were so far away from any conversation I wanted to have

I think the professor drank beer at night

maybe it was how he spoke

with a delayed voice

that went too high

He poured over his star maps

and graded papers

in his small office

and some would say he was a lonely man

but he had the stars.