A dislocation generates
An inventory of options
That shrinks and disappears
With time and inattention
And a Hermit emerges.
Peace follows solitude
A dislocation generates
An inventory of options
That shrinks and disappears
With time and inattention
And a Hermit emerges.
The sycamore tree drops leaves and small branches throughout the year and, in late spring, it scatters its outer bark about the yard.
I should not be critical of the tree’s bad habits.
It is silent about mine.
Once and once again
we accept the light.
Then one day,
the light dims
and we are afraid.
Then one day,
the light is consumed
and we embrace the darkness.
What appears as Truth
is merely Perception
which itself is a Lie.
If a tree falls in a forest
and there is no one present to hear it,
can the tree make a sound?
… and there is no one present to see it,
can the hermit make a mistake?
I have reached a stage in my life where
I am no longer required to suffer fools.
Now that puts a smile on my face!
Issue: In stories, hermits are usually found in the woods or deserts.
Since I do my best to ignore the outside landscaping,
my back yard is reverting to its natural forested state,
but global warming may introduce a desert instead.
Either way.
The pilgrim wanders the earth
searching for his god.
The hermit sits quietly,
confident that such a search is unnecessary.
There is a ladder called “Time”
used in the ascent from the muck and chaos of youth
to the soft tranquility of old age.
In a rush
sleeping inspiration springs forth
soon to disappear into its own recesses
leaving behind its seed
well planted.