Rewrite

I could rewrite my days

following crumbs back

through mysteries

I’d use different words

or fewer

but it would be the same story

 

David Trudel     ©   2013

Photon Thoughts

Synapses fire

Snapping off rapid fire shots of random thoughts

Which ricochet off walled up mindguards

Some of them

Broken up into fragments

Or buried in the dark void of forgetfulness

Some lonely few coalesce into ideas

Which may or may not require actions

Like expressions

Some kind of release

Some kind of ejection

Like photons traversing the interior of the sun

Then bursting from the surface to flare into eternity

A few slamming into earth just eight minutes later

Small wonder they burn

With the rage of interrupted space voyagers

Deprived of further shores

 

 

David Trudel  ©  2013

 

 

Mystery

Living in the mystery, we take so much on faith

Even the faithless

Here in the mystery of life on this world

Even atheist debunkers of wonders and the wonderful

Submit their faith to the laws of physics

To evidence of eyes and ears

But there are many of us who revel in mysteries

Listening to spirit whispers

Watching the interplay of ideas and ideals swirl

Into flawed reality only to fade and fall away

Coming and going momentarily

The way unbidden memories appear on internal newsfeeds

Like my first ever interaction with a computer

In that old department store, in a time when kids were unleashed

And capable of arriving back to square one

In the nick of time

Which, in itself, is a sacred holy mystery

In that old department store

Where a banner notice issued a challenge to try to beat the computer

At Tic Tac Toe

Which I did, over and over until I thought

Take that, asshole

Not realizing what the challenge really meant

Now, all these upgrades later I use my cribbage app

To beat the computer

Which I do

Still not realizing that the challenge is to not engage

In a dialogue of any kind with a machine made by a corporation

With a machine based on absolutes

The challenge is to revel in the mystery

And to listen to the whispers of the spirits on the wind

Finding that place where normal is unhinged

Living in the mystery

 

 

David Trudel  © 2013

 

 

Question

How are you?

There’s a question we ask each other a lot

Answering glibly that we’re fine or good

When really we’re troubled and stressed out

Tense and preoccupied

With nagging injuries that cause us pain

Enthralled to Chronos until transcendence springs us free

Terminally human and trapped inside our skin

And that’s not even answering the how of us

How do these elemental particles charged with creation’s divinity

Hold together in the constant becoming of self

What are the cosmic answers to philosophical mysteries of being

And how are we are in relation to what baseline of normalcy

So the next time you see me

Don’t ask me the usual

Unless you want to leap into a Proustean torrent of immediacy

Deconstructing three little words into a philosophical search for the meaning of life

Trending back to the moment when time began

And the clock started to run out

That’s just how I am

 

 

David Trudel    ©  2013

 

 

Matter

Fact of the matter is that matter’s naught

Hard edges an illusion of suspended animation

It’s not about fingertips to fingertips

Or even tongue to tongue liquidity

When you get down to it

Really down to the minutia

Where solids become constellations

Small points within large spaces

We hold more room than we imagine

Voids of emptiness held together by faith and hope

Universes of possibilities contained within perceived limits

Even more outside

Beyond imagination where divinity normalizes

Everything

So that there are no limits to restrict potentialities

Infinity is alpha and omega wide

Everything and nothing

 

 

David Trudel  ©  2013

 

 

 

 

 

Extra-terrestrials

Speculative wonderers

Search the skies

Looking for starlight companions

Precursors

 

Yet, perhaps those UFOs

Chariots of gods and goddesses

Aren’t from some distant planet at all

But from a different time

Simply human after all

Slipping through time

Unburdened by the linearity commanded by Cronos

Who was slain, after all

Eons ago

 

Or following another line of thought

Notice the similarity between star maps

And our own inner space

Maybe we are part of infinite chain of beings

Nesting Russian dolls

Leading inward

Leading outward

To a platonic ideal

Of twelve companions

Sharing an infinity together

Outside of what we know of time and space

Staving off boredom

Through observing the complexity of life

Human struggles

To them

We are the night’s show

Just part of the multi-channeled universe

 

 

David Trudel  ©  2012