Known spaces, familiar, old, understood.
Others talk of the wild, I pass them
on streets, have worked with them, schooled
with ones who did things, thought things I
could not and feared to step into their chaos.
I did not know, kept forgetting the silent
unassailed wild, the forgotten formless
danger, fear, uncharted space
nearby. Close, like a whisper.

The Atman* – my self, unknown, eternal.

Wild human forms have played
in the world, carved their images
in our thoughts, sacred pages, field notes
with names as if they were human
beings who strode the earth as I do.
They were the Buddhas, Christs
foraging in wild places, lying on straw
walking from place to place
from time into our time –
becoming immortal living beings.

Here am I. Out there is wilderness.
Not far, not out there at all.
In the morning I take my coffee
to sit in the season’s weathers
feel the air on which birds fly
through branches or where they perch
singing of their lives and loves.

Who is this being living in me
tugging at my coat and hat
hiding within my heart
crouching behind my own familiar face?

---

Portland, Oregon – April 8, 2019

*”Atman is the immortal aspect of our mortal existence, the individual Self, which is hidden in every object of creation including humans. It is the microcosm which represents the macrocosm in each of us, imparting to us divine qualities and possibilities and providing us with consciousness and the reason to exist and experience the pains and pleasures of earthly life.” (https://www.hinduwebsite.com/atman.asp).