Month: May 2026

Past is past;
We can never know time.

Time is only memory,
A previous life stretched,
Calibrated in artifice,
Checked by rusting chains.
Dylan, who measured time —
Time that let him play and be —
In lamb-white days,
Knew too well that time’s constraints
Would hold him green and dying.
We created our mythology of time
To index our simple lives, but  
Time is life past and life to come
And our petty measures
Can only frame our misered view
As we, heedless, dance ever forward
Beneath the blue-framed sun
And a myriad stars in a naked sky
Which retain a myriad alien times.  

Future is future.
A time like any other.

“This head is more than churches or bibles or creeds” (Walt Whitman: Leaves of Grass)
Hinduism: Ātman – The soul or the true or eternal self, or the self-existent essence within each individual.

My soul exists — it simply, is.
So also my mind.
The one perhaps deeper
Buried than the other.
We may say, I know my mind,
My mind is made up
As, consciously, we process the day,
Accepting or denying the stimuli
That the world and its people offer.
But my soul is the me
I have come to know
In the years of my life.
I can sit in silence and let my soul be
While my mind worries the day.
I know that my soul is the sum
Of the me I know:
The product of my upbringing,
Of all my people and surroundings;
It is the me that I know;
That they know;
The spirit at the core of me;
The consciousness that I write:
I am the poet of my soul.