Her own highway

I was attending one of those spiritual awareness groups so popular in the 90’s, very hip very knowing, many books for sale. We chanted HU for twenty minutes and bonded in anonymity - so effective it was almost psychedelic.

I know I was in a trippy headspace. It compelled me to write a poem about the interesting looking women who was the chosen speaker. She stood up to speak. Tall, thin, carrot colored bushy hair, with a pale complexion.

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The part in her wooly red hair

Ran right down the middle

Of her head like a desert highway

Narrow and straight. Two tight braids

on either side resembled cactus and

Miniature red tumbleweeds.

The highway part

ran right through and spilled out

Onto her face resembling a desert lake

With a nose in the middle

When the tiny island of her mouth moved

The part turned into a beam of light

And illuminated the words she spoke:

*

“The moon captured

By rain water in a

Frayed abandoned tire

Reflects the dual mind

Caged between logic and chaos

And though the water spills

the moon still appears

the same in every puddle”

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Overhead from someone in the group, ‘Wow, that was deep’

Yes, well I was certainly relieved, I think I actually just uncovered the key to enlightenment and as most spiritualists--I think will agree--the secret is to keep a healthy sense of humor.