Balancing on a thin tightrope tautly stretched
across the virtual topography of “my” story,
who stands revealed in the scattered light
of an opaque prism, transforming, morphing
in the poignant play of ripening conditions:
a costumed clown with a borrowed frown,
a small boy waving a toy sword at the sky,
a dynamo brimming with surging life force,
or reluctant wounded warrior rallying round
a weary worried wagon train of wry belief,
projection, resistance, and rejection?
In reality we are none of them,
yet in love’s wild perplexing play
of paradox, we are all of them too!
When transient images are taken seriously
we tend to lose the humor of the view –
the gift of its intended amusement —
trapping ourselves in fixation’s glue.
All identities are meant as costumes
to express love’s innocent delight,
a vehicle to play this game
of incarnating light.
Somehow we manage to forget that,
creating many problems that ensue,
though even such forgetfulness
is part of love’s play too!
Here all of us are teetering, walking tightropes
stretched between our births and deaths.
There’s no safety net to catch us
should we trip and fall, except that love
which brought us here to answer it’s own call.