Hardly a day passes I don't think of him
in the asylum...
Everywhere in the world his music
explodes out of itself, as he
could not. And now I understand
something so frightening, and wonderful-
how the minds clings to the road it knows...
he has just met a girl named Clara. He turns the corner,
he scrapes the dirt from his soles.
and he runs up the dark staircase, humming.
In the depths of our craziness, in our brain patterns gone awry, there is the music of love that is steadfast. What if all our life was focused on learning love and interconnection, would we in our dementia, our strokes, our crabby arthritic bodies pave the road for others to follow that leads to the beloving community? I suspect we would although we would not be aware that we were doing so.
What has been with you for the beginning, and persists through your journeys and your aging?