Sunday, January 22, 2017
How I Did It
How I Did It
First, it was the books.
So many, I lost count
years back.
When I was eight (in Oklahoma)
my mother (who aspired to become
a writer, for her, a sacred occupation)
took me to the library
to get my card.
I checked out Black Beauty
and the rest was history.
First it was Heidi,
Jo in the bay window
munching on an apple,
Robin Hood
and his Merry Men.
I even managed a getup
of my own, with a cow's horn
slung over my shoulder,
a hat with a feather,
and a fake bow and arrow
from the dime store.
Soon thereafter it became
Tolstoy,
Goethe,
Plato's cave.
A little Dante,
a bit of Shakespeare
and Whitman.
And of course
Emily and her buzzing fly.
And also
Emerson and his nose,
Thoreau by his pond.
It was they
who convinced me
never to be a materialist.
I have succeeded
beyond my wildest dreams.
But I did keep writing,
writing,
poems, essays,
no fiction, no
novels.
My life became a story
that I could never have invented.
It is a secret tale,
only for the initiated.
If you are reading this,
you probably wouldn't
understand.
Dorothy Walters
January 22, 2017
(New book: "Some Kiss We Want: Poems Selected and New")
Note: Actually, if you are reading this on FB or the blog, you are likely someone who would understand, for you are having your own spiritual transformative journey and are a
kindred soul. I was thinking of those who are so intellectually sophisticated that they are "domed against heaven" (as if they wore a hard hat to guard against god/goddess) and thus dare not risk encounters with more transcendent forms of experience, especially Kundalini awakening.)
