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Reverend Terrebonne Walker by JOHN HORVATH JR
ROBERT JOE STOUT The Divorced Father of Four Tells His Children About Relationships You want a place where you can see In all directions, a place to let your feelings Disembark and stretch, like passengers Who need to straighten out the kinks And wrinkles of a too-demanding trip, Forget the object of their journey And get back to who they are--or were. That's love sometimes, just being who You need to be, not asking --Not giving, really. Once, on a mountainside, I heard a chortling--a bird, I thought, then realized it was a man Sitting on a stump, tears pouring From his eyes. "What's wrong?" I asked. He shook his head, laughing So hard some finches in the bog rosemary Began to caw. "Tripped," he said. "Lost everything--wallet, glasses, all my keys--" He wiped his face. "My wife, she's gone, My kids, I've nothing left I thought, then suddenly It opened up…" What opened up? He laughed At me, a glee so intimate I felt it creep Along my spine. "Me, just me and what I feel!" What do you feel? I backed away. He blinked as though amazed, then said, "Given all these years of feeling what others wanted me To feel--or shouldn't feel, or couldn't feel, I…" He touched my hand. "Here's what I feel. I feel that if I wanted I could fly." Love is atman--energy--and constant change, There all the time. There, but not perceptible Until one stops and breathes, just breathes It in and feels things change inside And out. Change and keep on changing --That's the rub. You feel so much Your being can't contain it all --It's scary out there flying-- Till finally you find footholds, comfort, Rest…then wonder where it went For it's not what it was, it's changed And you feel lost. Instead of fighting To hold on, let go. Let go of who? And why? and what? and breathe, just breathe. Reach out and feel what fingers now can touch.
©2006 ROBERT JOE STOUT
