Amateur in the True Sense
His father died, and in rode the terrible freedom.
There was no one left on earth to judge, so the man
followed his heart’s affections.
Most saw merely mid-life change, just one more
cracking under the pressures, known and unrecognized,
that make up our lives.
But he sensed it as a pilgrimage away from
an unsatisfactory life, the steps of a religious hysteric without a religion. ✠ It was that their words no longer reflected the world he perceived. Their lives were powerful but to no particular purpose. He accommodated them for years, granted a long leash. Such behavior won him the title ‘a gracious man’ but whacked out his liver. God loves them, no doubt, but he can’t stomach their desperation, their faithful devotion to never being at ease.
✠ He finally had all he could stand, so he gave them over to their striving desires. To commemorate his divorce he took a Sharpie and wrote Lao Zi’s line on the kitchen door: The sage is not a do-gooder. From here on out he plans to dance in the dark shade of courage. From this moment on he hopes to cut quite a rug.
an unsatisfactory life, the steps of a religious hysteric without a religion. ✠ It was that their words no longer reflected the world he perceived. Their lives were powerful but to no particular purpose. He accommodated them for years, granted a long leash. Such behavior won him the title ‘a gracious man’ but whacked out his liver. God loves them, no doubt, but he can’t stomach their desperation, their faithful devotion to never being at ease.
✠ He finally had all he could stand, so he gave them over to their striving desires. To commemorate his divorce he took a Sharpie and wrote Lao Zi’s line on the kitchen door: The sage is not a do-gooder. From here on out he plans to dance in the dark shade of courage. From this moment on he hopes to cut quite a rug.
Sweet Moses!
Thanks for stopping by, Seth.
I live on the edge of the world in hopes of that freedom… I don’t wish for the death, just the lack of judgement. Much to ponder, and hopefully to dance. Thank you.
Heidi, I do not wish for the death either, not by a long shot. I do hope you find some space to dance…
“It was that their words no longer reflected
the world he perceived. Their lives
were powerful but to no particular purpose.”
I would get along so well with this man.
Me too, Josh…me too. Thanks for taking the time to comment.
Ah, the dark shade of courage. Here there is comfort. Unless there are multiple layers of meaning. In which case not so much. Either way this brings a wrecking ball to my heart.
Hi, Elizabeth. I believe there is comfort, sometimes spartan, but comfort nonetheless. Thanks for your words.
God loves them, no doubt, but he can’t stomach
their desperation, their faithful devotion
to never being at ease – wow John after reading this all I want to do is saddle up a palomino and ride off into the Wasteland Canyons for a spell. The best cowboy poems always take us beyond the precipice but you have redefined the heights here…at least in my mind.
Gene, that sounds like a wonderful idea. I hope you can for a spell, even if only in your mind. I hadn’t originally thought this a cowboy poem…but I do now – thanks!
Gut punch here. ‘never being at ease’ – yeah, I’m working on that. Maybe too hard?
Diana, hopefully not hard enough to knock the wind out, that’s rarely helpful.
From the get-go “…the terrible freedom” caught in my throat and stayed through the rest of the poem. Oh, man.
Thank you, Heather. I’m glad it stayed through the entire poem…that was the hope.
Found you via Jan Meyers Proett, read your poem, and am just weeping……no words, manifold thoughts, and feelings that cover the map. I thank God for you, and for letting me find your writing.
I’m glad you found your way here, Mary. Thanks for your comment, very much.