poem

 Dear Diary Poem 776

As you know, was 1985 or thereabouts read Hesse’s Steppenwolf; the takeaway that humanity is bridge between spirit and nature--thought/writing so true never far from mind: decades on end coming back to that sentiment and ruminating about it, now seems to have finally blossomed to its ultimate significance based on years and years of philosophical peregrinations: When we say a human being is half animal, it is there for all to see—having to clean itself, blow its nose, and change its clothes. In spirit, to make this equation balanced and harmonious requires a formal discussion of all, consensus built by parliamentary math. Tis true my personal spirit has always had a facet of imperiousness to it, sometimes transforming to hubris, but i’ve never spit on someone or punched or touched anyone with selfish intent or the like, or slashed tires or something retaliatory of the like i’ve known others to do—it’s not there on my record—I’ve never allowed the animal part to compromise the spirit part--the ultimate philosophy derived from that novel read so many years ago; life is navigation of animal and spirit, to be mindful.

When everything said and done is placed on the continuum of right and wrong, and every half-spirit/half-animal would rather have another dead, who is to blame for being created with a sense of command? Understanding and true, crying out in a wilderness now more animal than spirit.