Who’s All Ears Now?

You said something
which annoyed me.
I said something then
regretted it right away.
So we stayed quiet.
The antenna stayed down.

So still it’s yawn-inducing.
Like meditating monks.
Whoosh went the wind
rustling corn. In the woods
an owl hooted till morn.
To each an assignment.

Being downright pissed
we waited, the world unfathomable
yet real as snakes, hollow
as bamboo. If you asked me,
I’d channel my soul blurring
dream and reality.

Prompt:

If you’ve lived long enough you might notice your own karma. Who do you attract? What patterns of relationships did you go through? It’s as the saying goes, if you do not learn from history you’re doomed to repeat it. So it’s an endless cycle. When you shift, the universe also shifts. In Buddhist terms, it’s called samsara. To be released from samsara is the ultimate spiritual goal. It’s the state of nirvana. Pure bliss, pure emptiness–wahoo! I’m too steeped in stuff to even aspire to such a state, or even think such a state desirable. It’s too ethereal for me. But shifts are possible. It is desirable to shift to another level of reality. That’s what dreaming does. What art does. Do that in a poem.

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