The Confession

I wasn’t myself today and without forethought of any kind I walked into the tall grass and lay down. Add gold and acid & I’d have an engraving: Hermes Trismegistus dreaming; Carl Jung on holiday—who knows what to call it…"This isn’t me," I thought. "What kind of person lies in the uncut grass in America? Isn’t lying down a confessionof sorts?"

& I lay there sloped in the odors of vegetation unable to imagine my confession. What had I to confess? My foolishness perhaps but even the god inside me was tired of that story. Autumn & the crickets singing during the day. Autumn; crickets; the god inside me; tall grass; foolishness without conceit; a simple half hour while my country wages war & about that time I sensed that I have said all the prayers I have ever known.

S.K.

Comments

[blue girl]

I love this post.

You're a poet, did you know that? lol.

[william Peace]

You lay on the grass while I spent time looking at the clouds on a crisp and clear day. These are wonderful moments that make being human a gift.