This poem is about finding moments of presence and wonder even when freaking out about the future.
The Artwork: Caldera Full of Fog
The Poem: Caldera Full of Fog
Yesterday I hiked up a volcano –
I thought it would be a nice outing
with the sun and a steady-but-not-too-steep-incline
and there would be a lake at the top with a pretty view of both water and land,
and I would feel like a normal person who does things
and it would be so beautiful and clear that I would feel
the world forgive me
and then give me an answer.
It was partially all those things – first,
three hours of unmarked paths
and upward confusion and stumbling through
brambles and thorns
and just when I thought I was there
I walked into a cloud
and could see nothing.
I was standing above the cratered-lake,
but my own hands were invisible
because nature doesn’t give two shits about “vistas”
and I guess don’t anymore, either.
Besides,
who am I to complain
when the clouds decide to come home?
I’ve grown accustomed
to monsoon-soaked beaches,
low-visibility overlooks,
and out-of-reach love.
Anyway,
I was breathing hard and deep
with a spine full of endorphins, about to descend
hundreds of wooden stairs to an (alleged) lake’s edge,
and I did, creeping like vapor.
I started walking around the imperceptible –
fog oscillating between thick and thin,
moving toward me and away and in between its cleaves
I could see altars of flowers in the lake
and more piled on the shore, wrapped in mist.
The haze continued slipping
toward the clouds
and by the time I finished
my circumambulation
it had all lifted.
I could the sky below and above
and for the first time I can remember,
I held stillness in my hands
and silence in my heart.