Waiting in a crowded Conference Room for Dr. Neufeld to Speak

Various voices, volume fluctuating, fluttering as a sparrow cloud, one,
sound sounding simulated, unnatural and natural,
as the bubble and pounding
of a small waterfall plunging, tarried,
tumbling as meteors over smoothed stones to waiting waters below
surface breaking, bass and crackling, the dischorded cacophony
of small applauding palms
uncertain as a new spectator at a symphony or opera
into a pool never placid, predominated by water sparks, bubble, clear and foam
with hurried anxiety
forgoing serenity
mixing, but each drop alone, anonymously
staining the stones a darkened shade with their moistness
labouring with lilting silty sediment's carnage;
some evaporating, angelic, to the heavens,
returning,
weeping from darkened swirling mists above
some settle, some fork into tributaries, to tears,
some to make for the ambiguous sea
each drop alone in it's self
in its part of the greater alienated whole;
whole in their solitude only –
content, searching, sad, asleep – pensive on the journey
fate unknowing, rolling uncontrollably in their roundness,
concordant with weathering rocks that
reveal themselves grain by grain;
self-destructing, nothingness,
decomposed - awaiting the speaker
to make his entrance on stage
continuing the beginning encapsulated
in the moment's now, oblivious to
the vague spectrum of all-consuming time.

Edmonton, AB, Canada






Words

the root of a word
has no relevance,
but, rather, it is how we understand it to be.
our perception, subjective,
can never hope to realise objectivity
any more than we can understand our selves.
we are discontented with
simply being and find suffering in
trying to see what we are not,
be what we are not;
there is no meaning in meaning,
all that is, simply is as it is.
definitions define little of
our essence – the simplicity
feeling is all we know of knowing
and all we can ever know.

Edmonton, AB., Canada