How does it begin?

I think it is the simplest thing I have to say, but it must negotiate a labyrinth of pride and bile with nothing to light its way. Last night, I studied its paradoxes through the evening’s strawberry haze. How does it begin? Wasn’t failure the first consciousness, wasn’t death the first precept. We know these things like the taste of our own mouths. Not as a taste, not as knowing. Still, we elevate their antonyms — a god, a love, a lover, a time — we embellish them with the infinite, the eternal, one thing containing the other, with victory. How else should we process our own defeat? How does it begin? Always, always with a desire for how it should end. And then we are working our way backwards while trying to move forward. How then, does it not get trapped in the middle? The simplest thing I have to say wants the complexity of your understanding. The first suggestions of darkness appear like clues across the sky.

a different wind
a different night
why would silence be the same?

19 thoughts on “How does it begin?

  1. I liked your baring of thoughts of where, why how, etc. of our being. There are oodles of religions around professing to know the answers to them. We humans choose one, if we can, that we believe has proven theirs to us.


  2. Pride does have a way of overcomplicating things, especially when it is tied too tightly to something that lies close to our hearts. And its hard to push it aside completely when there’s a very real chance that the effort to do so won’t be appreciated.


  3. A penetrating piece, like the topic we try to penetrated. The darkness is a clue and the stars help us feel small in the vastness to put in perspective.


  4. Fantastic haibun. The question posed in the haiku as particularly poignant during the pandemic lockdown era.

    Thanks for dropping by my blog today Rajani



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