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Dance of The Colic Baby
Its primitive
Its tribal
Its ancient ritual
Its Native American, and Aborigine
and African, and Tibetan and Druid
and Pacific Island and Scotts Highland.
Its the dance
and its roots run as deep
as the human soul.
Often invoked to change the weather,
protect crops, mourn the dead, shape destiny
or plead for favor from
unseen spirits, Bodisattvas, or powerful gods.
Its one am,
and I face an ancient malady
that baffles modern pediatric science
that causes childcare psychology experts
to simply shrug their shoulders
that causes a small infant boy
to scream and scream and scream
long, into the dark tired night.
I return to the old ways
to the dance.
Anando, constricted, bundled tightly
crying up against my chest
sweat dripping down the back of my neck
the only music
the rhythmic creaking groaning
from the old wooden floor.
While I circle round and around the room
fleeting spots of orange-yellow streetlight
momentarily illuminate us
as we move in front of the Buddha
and the flickering candles.
We dance together, my son and I
for what seems like hours.
Moving always forward
right foot 1-2-3-4
left foot 1-2-3-4
right foot 1-2-3-4
left foot 1-2-3-4
Its like the Indian raindance
from those old Hollywood Westerns
and it continues on
This DANCE OF THE COLIC BABY
as the spinning clock
mocks the darkness
until his eyes finally close.
When I at last slump slowly
into white soft couch so careful
to keep him clutched up close,
I breathe deeply
and think about the dance
and all the ancient cultures
and what they believed.
I'm not really sure if it was
the warmth of my body
or the rhythm of my steps
of the filling and emptying
of my lungs
that calmed the child,
or if may have been
an inadvertent boon
from some powerful unknown force
but this,
is how they must have felt,
those ancient people.
Worn out, but grateful
just to have survived
another day.
Discourse on Love
LOVE
is a many splendid thing
it makes the world go around
it is all we need
it conquers all
what
the world needs now,
is love sweet love.
These idealized words.
These social imagery laden words
about love,
which according to some I've read
is the primal moving force of nature,
along with so many
other scenes
from old movies and love songs
and poems and romance novels
and romantic movements
and
shiny dream walking
cloud nine floating
little Cupid Naked winged baby
bow and arrow shooting
internal
mytho-cultural archtypical
precognitive preconceptions regarding
that one single life motivating word
LOVE.
It sets us up man.
It gives us ideas man.
Makes us idealize something
that is much more a state
of the natural waking walking world
than the Platonian post cave dream like
light filled world of ideals
its real,
not so ideal, you see.
LOVE is NOT
all about rainbows
and sunsets and European
food
and music and dancing
and tingling feelings
and staring into the eyes
for several long longing
moments
just before the rhythmic
Hollywood sex scene
that continues on
for a very long time.
Yes, LOVE contains these things
and there is beauty in romance
beauty in idealization,
but love
real
love
day to day
moment to moment
transcending environmental momentary
conditional factors LOVE.
LOVE.
LOVE is disagreeing.
LOVE is walking through adversity.
LOVE is the screaming baby
in the
back seat of an old car
while driving for groceries.
LOVE is sleepless nights and jobs.
And marital counseling
and kid raising
and bill paying and struggling
and the dreams of two people
meshing and colliding
and
growing and becoming
and unfolding.
Its about being who you are
and loving someone for who they are.
AND
yea man,
there is still that poem inspiring
looking in the eyes,
but its the eyes of a person
not
an idea
the eyes of the person
that you love.
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