I hand you an apple, and you are off
on a delightful spin of possibilities.
The first thought is identification,
the next, perhaps, one of degree.
Do you wish to eat it now , or might it better
adorn the fruit bowl on your table
--but those are only two. My generosity
is processed, the nature of that,
and then the apple's history,
its shape, our relationship, your gratitude,
indeed, the sound of your reply!
Suddenly the sleepy head of consciousness
awakes and if we think of that
the carousels within our heads
begin to speed, and we
have only just begun.
Hey, it was just an apple, but
it takes us prisoner, for now
it is the catalyst of endless searching.
We may be here all night
and emerge, sleepyheads ourselves,
no wiser. This cursed carousel
races stubbornly, our horses
stolid, indefatigable. To exit
is surrender.
Our villain--and our dearest friend
is consciousness--
self,
and soul
and psyche dueling it out
on other little wooden horses next to us
yet really just another can of worms
to place in line of thought...
or did they wriggle from that apple?
My apologies.
I guess all this points up
the dual possibilities of choice
endangering the speculative flights
a universalist like me will take.
Aristotelians decry us; Platanists,
more forgiving, learn to hop
both on and off the merry-go-round
and disregard its pace.
~