Sisyphe aux dents de loup
I persist in this struggle to baffle you,
sculptors of what should not be borne,
yet is shouldered, somehow, every day.
Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux,
said the Bodhisattva of the Absurd,
my protector in this ceaseless labor.
There is no end to this but the end,
and no reward. I am godless and free,
a body through which all light passes.
I could let this go, fill my pockets with
enough rubble from the ruined city,
walk into the arms of the waiting lake.
You could never withstand it, this life
you have never lived. And this alone
is enough to strengthen my back.
I grit my teeth again, in a lupine smile,
like all wild things once thought beaten,
returning time and again to diminish you.
I’m grateful to my friend Candice Louisa Daquin for penning a poem in which the line appeared, “How are you today? I am finding ways to end my life.” It’s taboo in our society to talk openly about suicide. Personally, my life without the thought of it on a fairly regular basis would be… bizarrely hopeless. Those of you who actually get that, you’re my kind of people. May we all find what we need to fight another day.
A little Andrew Bird to go out on. The fumble in the intro is perfect, I think; wabi-sabi in action.