Seven is difficult to balance, but not impossible if we are able to divide.Ī poem as lovely as a tree: As the night wind blows, the boughs move to and fro. The knowing is so full, there is no room for questions. But there is still the question: Why? And this question will go on and on until the final answer comes.
There is a depression after an answer is given. So now the sadness comes - the revelation. What is the secret to simplicity, to the pure and simple life? Are our appetites, our desires undermining us? Each day, just when we think we have a handle on things, suddenly some new element is introduced and everything is complicated once again. We live in a world where nothing is simple. We paint our future with every present brush stroke. Is a dog man’s best friend? The memory is all that I have left of my dog. When I see a fire, I feel my anger rising. At night when the wind blows, I think of what he might have been. And yet, who could throw away the casting of a loved one? Who would not want to study it longingly, as the distance freight train blows its mournful tone?Īre blood and love related? Does a heart pump blood as it pumps love? Is love the blood of the universe? The world could break apart with sadness in the meantime.Ĭan a victim of power end in any way connected to a drawer pull?Ī death mask is almost an intrusion on a beautiful memory. Then why is it so hard to find, and so difficult to attain?Īt night, just before sleep, as you lay by yourself in the dark, how do you feel about yourself? If you have hurt someone, don’t wait another day before making things right. Some say it is inside us - inside us one and all. Where is the treasure, that when found, leaves one eternally happy? I think we all know it exists. The beautiful thing about treasure is that it exists. Sometimes I get angry and do things I’m not proud of. How should we interpret the happy song of the meadowlark, or the robust flavor of a wild strawberry? There are clues everywhere - all around us. But my log tells me about the sounds, about the new words. What is a reflection? A chance to see two? Only when we are everywhere will there be just one. *This is a found poem created from Margaret Lanterman’s Season 1 and 2 episode introductions, with excerpts presented in reverse chronological order.*
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