© Envy of Aging Begonia
(A Voyage of Beginning)
I’m beginning a voyage of discovery of the labyrinth of my internal mind,
expecting to find, there’s really nothing there but empty space.
Every night in the endless cosmos of my head, I’m trying to locate the thread
of where I came from: the spark beyond; the elusive trace.
Some might view this as a symptom of madness, sadness, of a deep psychosis,
perhaps it’s another by-product of the scoliosis that entraps and inflicts me.
If what Eastern Religion tells us is true, then reincarnation is on the cards,
but...haven’t I already done the hard yards? Nirvana is strictly...
For the Buddhists? Perhaps, a devotee could explain it better than me: a jester,
the arch agnostic, the eternal cynic trying desperately to mimic sages.
Down history’s pages greater intellects than I have grappled with the enigma of being,
whether a whale, an insect, a python or plankton; begorrah, even a begonia ages...
Withers, dies and fades away. But are they ever bedevilled of thoughts of the sublime?
They’ve no concept of crime or time only survival; would they call it instinct, intuition?
They have no need of institutions or the Bible; only the zoos and other facilities
where we process all fauna, flora to our needs (?) Even the seeds we take for nutrition!
I’ve just returned from an exercise session – a voyage of beginning each week
and each week I’m becoming weaker; is this just futility as well?
A bomb explodes in Boston and again I’m lost in contemplation of the fragility of life;
perhaps it would be for the best to escape with my wife to the coast, not be a ghost in hell!
In a few more days I shall be the same age as my father when he died; of course
he lied to himself, saying ‘I’m fine, nothing wrong with my health; just pour me a beer!’
But cigars, grog and fatty food and salt clogged his arteries but latterly, I’m thinking,
‘What does it matter?’ Give yourself over to absolute pleasure – what use to shed further tears?
And what of my son who has ‘run’ away from his family; apparently, familiarity
breeds contempt, as the old saying goes, and so, we sail the calmer seas of ambiguity.
It’s so easy to be wise with hindsight and I’m not blind to the mistakes I made,
and the passing parade makes me melancholic, though non alcoholic; I espouse continuity.
Autumn is here and winter draws near and begonias begin their time of hibernation;
(the tuberous variety that is). No qualms are found, their ‘feet’ in the ground: bliss!
I’ve not kissed the Blarney stone but we’ve been to the castle – is travel an option these
days of uncertainty? Eternity beckons in the depths of unconsciousness; safe in the abyss.