Thursday, November 22, 2007

The fuss-fuss dance

When time decrees the merge of soul
into what the people know
there begins a fuss-fuss dance
with stubborn hands on hips
but slowly, slowly, comes the slide
down along each side
and so bends the soul into a bow
of complete acquiescence.

It’s easier, you see, to bend into the known
and be as one deprived of insight into source
than stand a pillar fortified by intuitive knowledge
brought up from the depths of soul’s watering hole.

But soul undaunted rises up again and again
until the stretch and bend begets no happiness
and soul sinks into the centrefold
of the discarded and rejected.

Stay, stay, and flesh pleads like a beggar
but learns the moves nonetheless
of the fuss-fuss dance
and slides the hands according to
soul’s continual rise and fall.

Ha! ‘tis just a dance of chance;
a chance to be and then not be
as well and truly made!

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