When one travels the world. High mountains, sea and beach, lonely deserts. One can’t but help seeing the world differently. Also, seeing some dwelling or some person and asking one’s deepest self - who lives there? What is this person “really” like?
As I’ve wondered through life, I have often asked myself - “why am I me, not him? Not her? Not that? Not it?”
I rode my bike up to the top of this little mountain I live on. I do it most mornings, the dog likes it. Bitch to get up it but once near the top, nice loop of road, semi-trail to ride my King Kahuna swiftly around. 5 laps and I’m usually done, ready for home and my eggs.
Today, thought of this house I pass in the middle of each loop. Yes, a man and a family live in this house. I see shadows as I pass and smell the whiff of smoke as breakfast is being cooked. Sometimes the small child steps outside and waves to me.
I wrote this poem in my head as I did my laps and now type it out here …
There Is Everything
There is a universe.
And then there is a world.
And in this world there is a mountain.
And on this mountain there is a house.
And in this house there lives a man.
And in this man ....
There is everything.