I was razed on autonomy, the notion that I am the captain of my own destiny; I suspect that this is like water to fish in American culture. The shadow of this is being a control freak. I have learned that life is much, much bigger than me. I live in a sea of grace AND vagaries — often sublimely beautiful, often ignorant and unkind. I have learned that the antidote for overdosing on the illusion of control is letting go and letting God. Fortunately, I have a profound sense of a beneficent universe, a loving God, with deep harmonies and order that I cannot fully see in the whirled of chaos and hurt. This poem is a tip of the hat to the 99.9999999999% of the cosmos that I have no control over…
Not My Own
I am
Knot the author of life
In naked truth
I am
Barely the author of my own
Life
Amor likely
Then knot
The sores of my own being
In that vane temp
I, I, captain
Of awe that
I am
As mirror vagaries
Ahead beclouded
A heart shrouded
As overcast that mettle
In that crucible of now
And unsettled prospects
And what remains
Moltin’
Taking to the shed
Fore a beaten
As won
And unending seconds
May I have another
Surly
Thank you
Fore the heart of life
Not my own
