Finding Esoterica

If you search long enough, you will find it eventually. 
It just won't be where you thought it would.

Remember when your dad gave you an entire stalk of little white 
and yellow daisies to give to me; 
he said that I'll know what it means. 
I didn't understand.
Now, I do.
It means that he saw a weed, 
he saw it was beautiful, 
and knew that I would find it 
just as remarkable.

No one asks someone else to give them a stalk of flowers. 
If you have to ask for, or expect a gift, 
it is meaningless.
The best gifts are always a surprise;
just as the most precious 
life defining moments
are always spontaneous occurrences.

One can study all they want.
To learn the old secrets; the significance
of something 
and/or what it means-
One must learn to let the understanding of such endeavors-
(if you are 
inclined to search
for what you 
seek)
-come to you.

Although, odds are 
you probably won't
get smashed in the face by a foul ball
unless you bought tickets to
the game
to begin 
with.

See big.
See little.
See both at the same time.
What's in front of you and above
and behind you and below.
Outside and inside and the spaces in between. 

Look past the trees and far into the forest.
Can you also see the other side?

I climb trees.
People study and meditate and trip for a lifetime to see this way.

I couldn't see the top.
I climbed and I fell and I kept climbing 
giant unyielding branches becoming
smaller and smaller by degrees
as well as the security of feeling 
that the branch under my feet was holding me up at all. 
I knew eventually it would snap 
and all would crumble beneath me.

But, somehow, I did not fall again.

I made it relatively close 
to the top;
to what I couldn't see before
but knew was there.

And I opened my eyes 
and I saw the world 
from the most unusual perspective-
like a newborn infant 
learning without trying
observing all 
and I didn't know how 
to be afraid yet anymore.

I never meant to climb so high,
to see over the tree tops,
over the edge of the world-
I was only very curious to know
what was up there.

I saw it was all only ever a game.

So, I keep winding the music box 
listening to the same song 
looking upwards and watching the shapes go
around and around and around 
noticing the black
and the white
and the gray all disintegrate
and bloom 
into technicolor.

-Jesse Haydn

Published by Jesse Haydn Poetry

The written word is life. I am the proverbial poet-at-heart.

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