The trip began very close to its end, on Fulton Street.
Experimental theater compressed a day into minutes, a week into an hour,
His young beautiful bright dark eyes so close to mine, so grateful that we came,
All mere feet from an almost ancient chapel-cum-burial ground
Which survived
while all else around melted and fell on that pivotal day.
God will prevail.
Nearby a shiny new subway station all glass and metal and
Echoes inside (like something from the Jetsons),
Along with spiritual popcorn for a crunchier enlightenment.
And in this steamy summer, the guy in the down jacket, surrounded by all that is his,
His ashram wide open, accessible to anyone—
How democratic he is!
This place, I swear to you, is as if created by an eternal tide, an eternal flood,
The relentless waters pushing a sample of everything that is onto one island,
Creating juxtapositions bordering on the ridiculous, the absurd, cartoon-like,
Creating a forest the likes of which we have never seen.
This morning, a sweet new melody wanders victorious inside me,
Begging to be written down, wanting to be heard
Over the din.
I am so small yet now I know I can walk among all this life
With my own integrity.
There is much left to feel.
