All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I’ll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I’m like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
They day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?
Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.
This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say.
I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
If my solitary journey is to be discovered and walked alone, and if it has to do with the soul and destiny, and if I’ve seen and understood these things, then it behooves me to contemplate constantly, to apply intent to what I do and say, to pursue the mystic life, and then to let it all go and live within the finely ornamented borders of the present moment. Rather like a butterfly, I’d say. Certainly like a bat. There I am, hanging upsidedown… contemplating, you know.
In terms of my early years, I could spend time telling you that perhaps I’d been a bright young thing; but lonely, anxious and angry. I could tell you, too, that I’d been traumatized over certain things that happened to me. But – no – I’d far rather tell you about my one burning question as a youngster. You see, I want to tell you this question because I believe it to be one of life’s few essential questions. I can validate it for you if you know this question. And I can give it to you if you don’t know it.
Oh! What is it, you say? Why, that’s simple. Because it’s quite logical.
Life’s first essential question is, “Where was I before I was born?”