My Uncle

We have few memories,
few moments, together.

Yet he lives within me.
I know him.
I understand him.
I am him.
And I am not him.

We are connected deeper
than memory,
deeper
than moments.

Just 100 generations, they say,
have lived upon this earth.
100 generations.

And he closest to mine.
With my name.
A soul like mine.

His home, with endless stacks of rare books,
few have read,
and a lifetime of songs
few have listened,
with polaroids of his own beautiful life slowly
winding their way through time.

His struggles, never uttered, never confessed

His success, never acknowledged.

All of it remains
a message
a telling
of who we are
and who we are longing to be.

And so,
all of it remains
within me.

By the Lotus Pond

By the lotus pond,
rain falls
into God.

And souls fall
into time.

Do you think
the Gods dance here
for people?
Or do people dance here
for the Gods?

By the Lotus Pond,
rain falls
into people
and people fall
into God.

Just like it was,
before it was,
by the Lotus Pond.