How long?
Many poets, prophets, kings and paupers
Have chewed on the question in their own time:
How long is it, really,
Till we savour true, unshakable joy?
The all too familiar flavours
Reveal more bitter-sweet questions:
How long is it to the present moment?
And how far is it to Home, where you may rest for another night?
And how blue is the sky on a sunny bereavement day?
And how is true is anything when you barely cope with the grind?
And how much do we know when control slips out of every door?
And how far have we really come
Without tripping our deepest aspiration?
And, and, and... the ampere sands of time
Electrify our tantalising thirst for truth.
In good truth, every day is unfathomable.
Only the wise may know what lies in store
Provided we stop and have a cold hard look
At the dusty mirror on that defective attic wall.
How long is it till your last supper
That always was the first
But never quite consumed to the full.
Only the sage can know how far we've come
Providing we were taught to look and rest actively
To taste what it is with utmost attention
And uncontrived wet-eyed gratitude.
However long it does take,
May we always find our way back
To wherever we happen to be,
Then as now, there as here.
It will probably be an awfully long time
Till we taste things just as they are
But how wonderful is it
To be journeying fully?
Only we may know if you we are enjoying the ride,
And give due honour and credit
To the wildlife and the farmers
Who sustain us with contentment;
And to the carriage and the driver(s)
Who take us along with benevolence;
And to the tracks and the stars
Upon which we continuously travel
Both alone and together
Connected in infinitely more ways
Than will ever meet the 'I'.
So how long is till we taste true, unshakable joy?
The question always remains here and now
For each and everyone to ask.