life's second chapter: thoughts, dreams, words
I dreamed I was buried.
A massive rock, oh so slowly,
settled over me, pinning me to the ground,
preserved in a crevice the size of a coffin.
I thought, “I will die here.”
I thought, “it will take days to die.”
I thought, “I can spend my time panicking or meditating.”
I thought, “no one will ever know which I chose.”
And that last was the worst.
What does the salmon feel
just before she starts her death trek home?
Is she pulled by dull aching for a home she’s never known?
Is it a restless burn, driving her from behind?
I feel it, too!
Can the salmon explain what is to be done?
She unerringly thrusts herself up the right
impossible stream.
Me, I don’t know which one to climb.
She shows me
— move! leap! to the death!
I stand below
— which way? when? how fast?
I lose sight of her as she rises.
It is awful to be seen by a horse.
[awful: creating a sensation of awe]
You’ll see, if you care to look,
how he knows everything that matters.
Your weakness, your hope,
Your fear and self-deception,
Your intentions, or lack thereof.
He turns his head, knowing all.
And you know so little,
of him,
of yourself.
I came to the woods seeking 
quiet,
gentle moments of insight,
the meaning of a bird.
Instead I found clamor,
relentless chatter and clanging:
self-doubt,
fear,
refrains of the past,
dark imaginings.
Am I a hopeless kind of monk,
or do all those brethren
live with it, too?
I milk my cow.
I buy and bring her hay,
grain and special minerals.
I give her safety and a dry bed,
I leave her in her peace.
She lets me catch her, tie her,
grab her teats and squeeze them.
She lets me take her body’s product.
She sniffs and licks her calf,
nose to tail, shoulder to belly.
I don’t interfere,
She lets me look on.
To make a contract, you need:
An offer,
and acceptance.
On Elk Meadow Road 