Deep

When someone said to me, speaking about someone else, “He’s really deep”, I said to myself, “Yes, and aren’t we all?” In 78 years, I haven’t met anyone who wasn’t deep, in the sense of being a thoroughly impenetrable puzzle. Yes, I sometimes take satisfaction in saying I understand this or that person, but it’s always a pretense, a charade that charms me into believing I am smarter than I actually am. In some places the ocean can be many miles deep, but not nearly as deep as every single person I pass on the street. There’s eventually a bottom to the ocean, but where is the bottom of someone’s inner life – someone’s sorrow, for instance? Where is the bottom of a broken heart, or of happiness? Is it ever possible to understand the scope of the most ordinary person’s simple gladness? The Grand Canyon is deep, yes, but not nearly as deep as William next door, or Anna, a check-out person at McQuades. I stand in awe on the shore of any ocean, yes, but I should do the same in the presence of any person.   

On my walk in the Peace Sanctuary this morning, I passed several scenes that seemed ‘deep’ to me, like this lovely trail that led me quietly along …

and these trees as the rising sun was shining behind them …

and this view of the Mystic River, whose charm, for me, is as deep as any ocean …





A SHOT IN THE DARK
 
She said it was an absolute 
shot in the dark. 
She said her spoken words
went out into undisciplined darkness
and deep into space, and she never saw
what happened to them, until
time went by and blessings
descended on her, the subtle
blossoms from those old words
that had wafted through the universe
setting down seeds
for fortunate people.

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