Sunday, August 22, 2010

90. Gray Rayn

It is raining.
Process as
rain, and rain
as process
performing
itself into
grey. It is a
grey world
under a grey
sky on a grey
day in August.

We think of
the road as
black, but it
is grey under
grey sky or
even not so,
and it turns
closer to black
with the rain
on it in the
form of water.

Rain is rain
until it does
not fall or
until we forget
that it has
come from the
sky on a grey
day in August
heading east
and back to
our grey home.

We live within
a process of
processes that
make the world
at our feet or
fingertips, so
that we can
ride a grey
road under
grey clouds
eastward.

Every car on
this side of
the highway
is heading
east, its red
taillights
pointing at
us, headlights
coming at us
from the other
direction.

The process
of traveling
is the process
of moving as
a body in
space through
space to reach
the other side
of the simple
equation of it.

We think and
talk within
the space of
an automobile,
something
moving itself
forward in
space, so that
we can think
here as we can,
alone in space.

In a pattern of
cars moving, a
pattern that
changes as it
moves forward,
we are a car
in motion to a
goal obstructed
by the other
goals driving
all around us.

A car is a car
and never the
human being
piloting it even
though a car
is sometimes
the person
driving it and
always a he
in such cases
when unknown.

Maybe you
awoke today
and drove
through rain
and greyness,
or not and you
are resting at
home in the
process of your
life already
in progress.

The process of
growing is the
process of aging,
of moving
through time,
the process of
being versus
not, celebration
of the quiet
joy of each
sweet breath.

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