Driving West Across the City

Driving West across the city,
I descend into the valley.
My truck sings across Taylor Street Bridge.
Below, the Broad and the Saluda meet in
a forest of tiny islands and give birth
to the Congaree.
Blue waters fold over rocks,
crease beneath weathered logs,
ripple and foam against banks
of sand and clay.
Twilight tendrils of trees like columns
buttressing the darkening sky.
Dark-winged flocks of birds
circle in unison drawing
invisible sketches on the pale green horizon.
Everything I once thought was empty
is more full and alive
than I could possibly have ever imagined.
The thought-center...
a mind once tied up in pretzel knots...
is loose and untangled.
So this is what it’s like to feel free.
To know these truths...
no matter I didn’t get what I wanted,
or got what I didn’t want.
I have what I need.
To learn it’s not about me.
My life is not my own.
It is a gift.
The blank spaces filled.
The vacuum vanished.
Thought plasma bends and swells around everything.
There is no me and you. There is only us.
What I do to myself I do to you.
What I do to you I do to myself.
Everything that is good is of God.
Everything that is bad is born of fear.
When I lost my mind I found my spirit.
A light reflects in my rear view mirror,
bright, golden, and holy...
A full moon,
huge and swollen in the East.
It winks at me from behind buildings
and rises.
It rises.

December 15, 2008