THE FOOL – THE MAGIC IS THE MESSAGE

Questions are foolery
at the beginning of a journey.

Lo -- the sun has climbed
almost to treetop height,
the flowers turn to him
with peaceful faces
& blades of grass
awaken.

And I -- I set my face
towards this & future dawns,
my cap blown by the laughing wind,
& my idiot bells jingling.

Between windy trees the winding path
appears as the ladder
no one can climb.
Clouds sweep over it, obliterate it.
At the top a sunburst
laughs heartily at those
who step off cliffs in fairy-green costumes.

And how do I
initiate?
Will I fly or fall?
Or will I merely spin?
Is the ladder real?
Really a ladder?

All questions are foolery
at the beginning of a journey.

^ back to top