From: benge_kl@lrc.edu
Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems
Subject: Letter and Poem
Date: 11 Jan 93 19:55:45 EST
Organization: Lenoir-Rhyne College, Hickory, NC



	Hello again!  I know I said I was going away, but I couldn't let down
all my fans.  Both of them wanted me to write some more.
	Truth is, I reread some of my old poems over the holidays and was
able to recall the First Rule of Poetry:  Noone will ever like what you write
until you stop caring whether they do.
	About the poem, it was influenced by J.M. Barrie, Lewis Caroll, and
Douglas Adams (in that order), so don't feel bad if you find it confusing the
first time through.  I already know that the last section sucks poetically,
but I'm not sure if the rest of the poem can stand on its own.  What do you
think?  Should I rewrite the conclusion or just drop it?
	Anyway, here it is...

That Which Was Forgotten
--An Epic in Three Ones and a Dot--
===================================

Chapter 1
---------

On a snow-covered mountaintop,
Backlit by a frigid yellow sun,
The guru in the neon-orange toga said:
"Remember, Reality is overrated.
"Truth is subjective.
"You can make the world into whatever you want
"Just by treating it as if it already were."
I answered:
"Don't you get cold up here
"Dressed in only a toga?"
The wizened old man with the salt-and-pepper beard said:
"I sought the truth for centuries
"But noone will hear it."

It's true.
Dad always said I never listened.
Maybe I should have listened when he told me that,
So then I would've listened to that wise old man
Who wears an orange bathrobe
And lives in a wheelchair
On the sixth floor of a hospital.
But I didn't.
So I didn't.


Chaptim 1
---------

I went on to build myself a Reality.
It had three walls,
A dirt floor,
And no ceiling.

It had three walls because the triangle is the symbol of life,
And I wanted Reality to mirror life.
I just spent all my time wondering where the hell I'd left the fourth wall.

It had a dirt floor to keep me in touch with Mother Earth.
I just spent all my time wondering why Reality didn't have a broom.

It had no ceiling so I wouldn't feel trapped by Reality.
I just spent all my time wishing I could fly.

I knew I had to keep busy.
I wanted to develop compassion,
So I decorated one wall with pictures of starving children.
That just made me feel powerless.
I wanted to vanquish enemies,
So I decorated another wall with pictures of school bullies.
That just made me feel weak.
I wanted to be smart,
So I covered the third wall with pictures of artists and scientists.
The condescending bastards just made me feel dumb.

Soon, my Life indeed began to mirror my Reality,
Just like the old man said it would.
Unfortunately, it wasn't that good a Reality.
And, as a result, my Life was pretty shoddy too.

Chaptit 1
---------

Geography lesson:
Truth is an ocean.
  (That means Truth is a fluid,
   Which means you can force it into whatever shape you want.
   Without a firm grasp of this fact,
   You can't possibly understand one word of this story.)
Everyone's Realities are just islands of order in this ocean.
Actually, they're more like ships than islands.
Anyway, end of lesson.

Like I said, my reality wasn't really built that well,
So one day the Truth just crushed and sank it.
And there I was, being tossed and buffeted by uncontrolled Truth.
I was sure I was going to die a
  twisting turning
  spinning sloshing
  death by drowning in Truth.
And then, I remembered my childhood.

As a boy, I played with Truth,
I rode its ups and downs,
I drank deeply of its sweet sweet waters
And learned that I only chocked by asking questions.
I accepted that it couldn't, 
And shouldn't,
Be tamed.

That is what I forgot.

The Last i's Dot
----------------

That is the way I'll live my life,
As a child riding free on the waters of Truth,
Without questions
Or interpretations.

To accept Truth for what it is,
Random, orderless, and spontaneous,
Allows you to ride its waves
And sail past its whirlpools.

And believe me, it's a lot more fun
And a lot less lonely
Than being shut up inside a Reality.

						KaLeB the NoMad

Newsgroups: rec.arts.poems