Thank you Paul. The Indian Buddhist master Nagarjuna said that he does not stay inside or outside, right or left, but in an indefinable middle point between the two that actually transcends opposites. Your poem reminds me of this profound state.
You’re welcome, Dominique, and thank you for your thoughts on this poem. I am not familiar with Nagarjuna’s teachings but I agree with the idea you expressed in your comment. Perhaps we are most free when we are free not to choose.
I meant to say not just the sentiment but the crafting of the poem and the cadence. I read poems aloud as they are clearer to me when I recite them. Cheers!
Couldn’t love this any more. It speaks to exactly where I am and the path I’ve been traveling. I appreciate the imagery you chose and the reverence you afforded it.
It is a path, isn’t it, stepping so carefully between one side and the other until both become irrelevant and there’s only the path and you realize that you and the path are one and the same.
A bit weird you wrote this morning as I had that experience today in my meditation--more profoundly than ever in all my years of meditating. Enjoying the journey with you.
No. And not something that comes easily. And when it does it’s highly confusing. I was grateful I had a teacher I could ask about my experience because I thought I was losing my mind. When in fact I was separating from my ego.
What really stayed with me in this poem is the quiet honesty behind the refusal. It doesn’t feel angry or dramatic — it feels like someone who has genuinely stood inside belief, felt its warmth, and still chosen a different kind of freedom. The image of prayer as “windows in winter” is beautiful and painfully true. I love how the poem holds both longing and resistance without pretending they cancel each other out. The idea that truth only lasts for a moment, never asking to be owned, feels deeply human. There’s something tender in the way the speaker admits to hope, even while stepping away from certainty. And that final choice — staying with the wind, where nothing demands obedience — lands with a kind of quiet clarity. It’s a poem that lingers long after you finish reading.
This is a poem dealing with the reality that truth is uncertain, and may be (as Eliot said) true "only for one time, and only for one place" - that "there is no sure foothold" in our search for meaning in this transient world, where nothing stays forever. I particularly like the fragile but endearing humanity of verse 6. Well done, Paul.
there's been a clarity in your work in the last 5 months 4 months especially there's fire in there man
there's actual stakes ideas you're coming at it I like that I like seeing that I like reading that I like feeling and thinking that so what you made thank you
now that's it yeah thank you for remembering that I'm doing these Ghazals I'm working on number 108 right now as I'm finalizing my book document for publication so 108 mala is rosaries too iihaving a chat with a Poet whilst hell I'll take it as a good omen it's easier than killing a chicken
but yeah I should be I don't know 12 more 12 more after one more and that'll be 120 and that'll be a book here's the thing because of my current situation contacts Paul I'm laughing inside deeply because I just thought holy fuck I got to edit 120 gazelles lol
I also just remembered it's Friday night I'm sitting at my desk cuz I don't really have a life in the best way possible
Thank you Paul. The Indian Buddhist master Nagarjuna said that he does not stay inside or outside, right or left, but in an indefinable middle point between the two that actually transcends opposites. Your poem reminds me of this profound state.
You’re welcome, Dominique, and thank you for your thoughts on this poem. I am not familiar with Nagarjuna’s teachings but I agree with the idea you expressed in your comment. Perhaps we are most free when we are free not to choose.
Thanks to @Lique for this restack!
Thank you, @Margaret Ann Silver for this restack.
Thanks for the share, @Stanley Wotring
Thank you for this restack, @Blue Citizen 77 and Diane!
Good Friday, @Rolando Andrade, and thanks for this restack!
My pleasure Paul. Have a nice weekend
You, too, Rolando. What time does sunset arrive in Portugal?
Im summer time, by 5.45 AM
Wouldn’t that be sunrise?
sure. I read it wrong. Summertime sunset at 8h45 pm
No problem, Rolando—thank you!
Thank you for restacking this, @Franco Amati—much appreciated.
This is a wonderful poem.
Thank you for reading and commenting, Jeanne 🙏😊
I meant to say not just the sentiment but the crafting of the poem and the cadence. I read poems aloud as they are clearer to me when I recite them. Cheers!
I do the same, Jeanne—and Cheers to you!
Couldn’t love this any more. It speaks to exactly where I am and the path I’ve been traveling. I appreciate the imagery you chose and the reverence you afforded it.
It is a path, isn’t it, stepping so carefully between one side and the other until both become irrelevant and there’s only the path and you realize that you and the path are one and the same.
Thank you for reading and commenting.
A bit weird you wrote this morning as I had that experience today in my meditation--more profoundly than ever in all my years of meditating. Enjoying the journey with you.
Thank you, Tracy. Your note is proof that the idea is not something made up for fun. 🙏😊
No. And not something that comes easily. And when it does it’s highly confusing. I was grateful I had a teacher I could ask about my experience because I thought I was losing my mind. When in fact I was separating from my ego.
Beautiful work.
Good morning, David, and thank you 🙏 😊
What really stayed with me in this poem is the quiet honesty behind the refusal. It doesn’t feel angry or dramatic — it feels like someone who has genuinely stood inside belief, felt its warmth, and still chosen a different kind of freedom. The image of prayer as “windows in winter” is beautiful and painfully true. I love how the poem holds both longing and resistance without pretending they cancel each other out. The idea that truth only lasts for a moment, never asking to be owned, feels deeply human. There’s something tender in the way the speaker admits to hope, even while stepping away from certainty. And that final choice — staying with the wind, where nothing demands obedience — lands with a kind of quiet clarity. It’s a poem that lingers long after you finish reading.
What a wonderful comment to read, Adrião! Thank you for reading and for taking the time to post such a thoughtful comment. I’m grateful 🙏😊
This is a poem dealing with the reality that truth is uncertain, and may be (as Eliot said) true "only for one time, and only for one place" - that "there is no sure foothold" in our search for meaning in this transient world, where nothing stays forever. I particularly like the fragile but endearing humanity of verse 6. Well done, Paul.
"I have loved things
that vanished.
I have trusted what could not stay.
This has taught me enough."
there's been a clarity in your work in the last 5 months 4 months especially there's fire in there man
there's actual stakes ideas you're coming at it I like that I like seeing that I like reading that I like feeling and thinking that so what you made thank you
now that's it yeah thank you for remembering that I'm doing these Ghazals I'm working on number 108 right now as I'm finalizing my book document for publication so 108 mala is rosaries too iihaving a chat with a Poet whilst hell I'll take it as a good omen it's easier than killing a chicken
but yeah I should be I don't know 12 more 12 more after one more and that'll be 120 and that'll be a book here's the thing because of my current situation contacts Paul I'm laughing inside deeply because I just thought holy fuck I got to edit 120 gazelles lol
I also just remembered it's Friday night I'm sitting at my desk cuz I don't really have a life in the best way possible
Thanks for staying with the wind. Someone’s gotta do it
Thanks, Earl—seems most like home.
I will not kneel
where the cost of wonder
is certainty…
…The place where moral courage, and the pilgrims journey, begins.
You know the journey well, Joshua. Thank you for reading and commenting.
I have watched
hands open in prayer
like windows in winter,
hoping for something warm
to enter.
Thanks for reading, Lev, and including those lines as a response. I think we’ve all been there at one time or another.