After yesterday's blog I've exhausted somewhat my philosophical larder. I'll simply have to shop for more imaginary culinary delights. However, a poetic interlude, I feel, is what's needed. Therefore, I'll publish here a poem I wrote exactly a year ago, the 31st of January 2007 to be precise. On re-reading it I feel it does tackle the mystery which we experience the mind to be. No more than that needs to be said as I believe the poem is fairly self-explanatory after that. Anyway, the whole idea of poetry is that it should be self-explanatory because a poem worth its salt must be able to stand alone and sell its wears itself.
Always when you think you’re done
Something else opens up –
Some new problem to be solved
Or even worse an old one
Still haunting you too long
Because it was never put to bed.
The mind’s a labyrinth
More devious and deceiving
Than that at Knossos long ago.
You’d need more than a ball of thread
To unwind behind your back
As you wander ever inward
In pursuit of some stray spark
Of Soul or Self to light
Your benighted way,
Something to inflame the heart,
To give you courage
To keep you going against the odds.
Sometimes you are the slayer,
Sometimes the monster slain,
Sometimes both or something in between
In the chimera world of dreams and nightmares,
Half man, half bull –
Not fully whole – unfinished.
You are bereft of Ariadne,
A lover with the secret.
You are bereft of Theseus,
A hero to slay the monster.
Yours is the plight of Icarus –
The sun will melt your wax
And you will plunge into the depths.
We all need some Still Point where we can tie up the boat of our mind and soul, often tired from seeking "too much meaning"!