Can we ever get over the loss of a loved one? How do we learn to remember the occasions of joy without subsequent pain? The solutions came to me at the end of a wavering prayer long after I lost the sense of urgency. Getting through each day is how best to resolve the pain of loss— by keeping it in— without the exploits of discourse. We cure the numbing pain fixed in the pit of the stomach by focusing on it for what feels like perpetuity. Mourning is how best to conclude the grief of infinite loss. It is a form of ritual though unlike rituals it takes its own twists and turns 'till the healing is all the way through. There's anger and the fuming denial of certainty, then the hopeless bargaining for things once familiar. There's the spell of depression and arduous acceptance of what's unacceptable! We're letting in only as much as we can handle, unable to believe ourselves and disjointed with the universe.        “Given that I'm sane enough to love        I must be sound enough to grieve—        strong enough to withdraw from society        and to be up in arms about losing it all;        stubborn enough to bargain for        saving the past from its timeline—yet        sensitive enough to feel numb        before the acceptance of change.” Over time the light begins to shine once more with our sense of disbelief built-in, parallel with the missing connection. We are no longer isolated from within. No longer amalgamated from without— again guided frontward by the luminosity of personal journey. This is how the grief of infinite loss gets amended. There's freedom to be gained in understanding—nonetheless, we are stripped of innocence by the experience.        “For Mercy has a human heart [...],        And Love, the human form divine,        And Peace, the human dress.” * And hope, the scars of memory. Richard Tylman

* William Blake, "The Divine Image" from Songs of Innocence. In Blake's phenomenology: mercy (meant as compassion and kindness), pity (or the capacity to feel sadness), love and peace are all "virtues of delight" to be thankful for, regardless of the distress they're associated with. Featured

Gagged

I'm tiptoeing around the white elephant. Pretending not to comprehend! Talking about paranoid ideations like they were brilliant remarks worthy of future debate! "Oh yes, it's true, your neighbours are plotting to get you, but try to relax. Let's enjoy ourselves for the moment. They will attack only after you're already gone, safe and sound," rolling marijuana between disbeliefs. I'm trying to pay attention while drowning in a sea of nonsense with brain waves crushing against coves of darkness. You seem determined to medicate yourself out of quantifiable honesty . . . . I feel silenced! Silence is what caring for you signifies. There's no treatment for those suffering from nondelusional suspicions resulting from drug abuse. Yet, you respond with radiance to reassurances from such a trusted and supportive individual living in awe of the ceaseless hold of the fear of loneliness! I'm gently trying to persuade you toward reality, fearful of my next fairground ride with paranoia. Stumbling through the panic of love! Richard Tylman Featured

Hour by Hour

I pretend to be working just to feel safe, like there was nothing out of the ordinary about this morning with magnolias in heavy-petal bloom, but I can hear the voice of Master Adi Da* uttering words from a place where nothing is real because nothing is as it appears. I glance out the window to see if you're coming, but you're not. You probably won't. I push away thoughts of what went on between us yesterday. What you said about me: first, early; then again at dinner time. You were upset about my constant talk of poetry, my wearing shoes in the kitchen and that I wouldn't lend you any money if you were in need. How dare you imply such coldness of my heart? You said I've been shutting you out and that you're afraid of telling me anything secret because I would inevitably pass it around. You're afraid about what was going to happen to your home and how I wouldn't listen to your concerns. Why is darkness so inexplicably dark, I ask? Why am I searching for anything definite in a place where absolutely nothing is definite? Why do I refuse to deal with drug induced disturbances to your mind's neural connectivity and instead hide in silence? Why am I the keeper of shadows? Richard Tylman

* Master Adi Da Samraj is a contemporary spiritual teacher, an Avatar of the "esoteric" tradition. Born as Franklin Jones on Long Island, New York in 1939, Adi Da is said to have been deluding and seducing his devotees with stimulants and subtle coercion. Featured

To Be Found

People I used to know have—moved on and—become somebody else. But the memories of joy are vividly awake. Like the summer in the Polish mountains where we ate pan fried mushrooms by the basket, collected every day from the grassy slopes. Deeper yet in my mind are the things I did out of the feeling of entrapment, leaving behind a mess as I passed through. Have you heard of Sierra Madre? There are no alien dealers there, no suburban grow-ops, no drug-induced insanity. We might get stoned on mountain air away from metropolitan desolation. There are forest springs in Sierra Madre del Sur said to cure body and mind. We could start an Internet café by the country road in Oaxaca Valley for those crack addicted poets who blame God for their own rage and thrash about among Ponderosa pines. We would never get old again, ugly and powerless like today. Sooner or later we are going to have to take sides, if we are to remain human. Those who come to Sierra Madre del Sur understand a lot just by looking around. Whatever it is they're hoping for they will find there. The rest has got to be earned. Richard Tylman

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