I see you.
I see a writer
mixing and
matching
words and
images —
an artist
in his
paints.
I have no
commitment
to this artist
in his paints.
He creates
because he
has to —
I simply
watch.
He shifts left
and right to the
slings and knives
of his own
fortune and
misfortune.
He tutors the basics
of math and English to
children suffering from
depression, ADHD,
autism, and
dyslexia.
He takes part time work
where he can at different
local city councils.
He lives paycheck to paycheck
and doesn’t plan on
retiring.
His one and only
passion is writing.
He lives to write.
He drinks coffee
and writes for
fame.
He is an ambitious
dreamer, a creature
of desires.
He enters his poetry
into international
competitions, only
to be met with the
deep silence of
the night sky.
Detached and amused,
I watch him act out.
I could ditch him
tomorrow if I
wanted to.
I have no debt to him
and no bondage
to this Earth.
The sky is my home
and I am profoundly
uncommitted.
The heavier this artist
feels under the weight
of his desires, the
lighter I feel eying
his agony — like
some episode on
Netflix I am only
half into.
I am under no
obligation to watch
Season Two.
I don’t need him
like he needs me.
I could turn off
the lights today.
Is it unfair?
Do I sound
like I care?
Emptiness is cruel
and heartless, you
might say, and
you would
be right.
I am a clinical witness,
unattached to any one
person’s biography.
I can neither be used
nor exploited.
You work for me —
not the other
way around.
So I have only one
question for you:
How will such
an embroiled, attached,
ambitious, desirous,
karma-laden artist
as yourself make
peace with your
other half — your
careless and heartless
and empty daimon?
Will you cry to the gods
like all of the poets and
mystics and philosophers
who came before you?
All of them without fail
have graves with birth
and death dates.
It never stopped any bird
from unceremoniously
gliding right over them.
© Carlo Zeno
_______________________
Daimons derive from Greek mythology and can loosely be defined as spirit guides who have the power to rule the fates and fortunes of individuals. I first came across the concept upon reading the Jungian analyst, James Hillman’s Soul’s Code.
I have taken a slightly different direction with my Daimon by combining him/her/it with the Hindu and Buddhist concept of the Witness, or Emptiness. With this in mind, my poem imagines what such a detached Daimon might have to say to me.
I believe this sort of dialoguing with one half of yourself can be a useful exercise in gaining insight — both about yourself and about the nature of life and death.
___________________________
This poem was previously published on Medium.
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Love everything about this.
And I've only had one cup of coffee today.
Nice writing. Keep writing.