No sigh can state how February’s full moon

Beams back at my face, and all facts fall flat.

Science can’t speak what’s spoken in a tune.

Even my thoughtful old dog knows that.

It looks up at the moon, and howls.

                                                                   An owl’s

Quick to reply, off through the leafless trees

That leave ink shadows on bright snow.

                                                                          That owl’s

Got a friend a valley away; my ear sees

A far dog bark at that distant bird

As if they’re a reflection of what’s near,

Or an echo, or a memory.

                                                  It’s absurd,

But I know this bright moon, like an old friend

From a long-vanished past that refuses to end.

10 thoughts on “LOOPHOLE

  1. I wonder why fact and science sometimes stand in such poetic disrepute. Is it that the Truth underlying our lives finds such disfavor, that we would will it be otherwise and dispense with fact and science? After all, we don’t know Truth from either poetry or science and fact. I suspect that such poor knowledge as we do possess is derived from all three. We would that we not die? I suspect that this is core of our trouble; and perhaps that the corollary is that neither would we have even our life’s moments to die passing into the vaults of the past. But they do seem to do so. But both, poetry and science with fact are but words constructing their descriptive stories to be used as we find them useful. The underlying Truth is only hinted at all around. Or perhaps merely suspected, extracted from and called anything at all by the habits of description and the language involved demanding a word even where none is required; so we write Truth, when silence is appropriate. I suppose that such poetry is appropriate, when only silence can otherwise speak. It is an outlet for the terrible pressure of the unspoken and beyond reach.

    • Science and fact tend to be based in Truth we can materially measure. There is nothing disreputable about such Truth, and in fact it opens our eyes to some amazing harmonies, for the universe is constructed in a marvelous manner. However some take the discipline science involves, and incorrectly use it to dismiss that which we cannot materially measure, which includes life itself, and poetry, and that which inspires us and brings inexplicable tears to our eyes. I’ve noticed such disdain is seldom seen in old scientists, who are humbled by the simple fact that the more they learn the more they see they glimpse but the tip of an iceberg. “The more I learn the less I know.” Instead the disdain is more common among the arrogant sort who think they have everything figured out.

      I spent (and perhaps wasted) a lot of time in my late teens and early twenties enduring the disciplines suggested by various schools of psychology, and I noticed many had a belittling idea of what poetry was, tending to blame it on hormones or too much dopamine or an excess of mothering or lack of fathering, or some such thing. And I always wondered why they felt poetry was a thing you needed to “blame” something for. To me it was a sixth sense. Do you blame eyes for seeing? Do you blame ears for hearing? Do you blame fingers for feeling roughness or smoothness? Why then blame the heart for feeling the smoothness or roughness of life?

      Such psychologists seemed to feel that there must be some chemical involved when a man’s inner eye has visions. Some naturally-produced form of LSD was causing hallucinations, or some such thing. When a man as deaf as a post hears (and writes down) heavenly music, (IE: Beethoven) they mark it down as a symptom of a syndrome. It is when faced with such sneering cynicism that poets get mad and fight back, and look like they are anti-science.

      There is but one Truth, infinite, wider than the universe, beyond the beyond, and neither art nor science can come close to encapsulating such enormity, though they both marvel at the same Truth.

      Even glimpses of this Truth buckles people’s knees. They must bow before It. But it is not really terrible, for Truth is Love.

      • What is truth? Is truth Love? Truth is actually different for everyone. Truth is what you see, feel, and understand. Truth, like good poetry, speaks clearly to those that seek it. Science devolved into mathematics – the belief that the world is a hologram, that nothing is real but is composed, in the end, of what is believed to be particles or bundles of energy that can never be seen, defined, or detected. There can be no truth if it is undetectable. For if it can’t be detected, it can’t be understood.

        Poetry can and often is visionary for it speaks from the inner being, the product of perhaps hundreds of lifetimes, or perhaps interconnections between coexist beings, but it is truth only to the poet that produces it. No man is truly capable of reading a poem, as the one presented here, and see the truth of what is said there except the poet him or herself – I leave out any other believed sexual or non-sexual being. In some cases, truth may well be the expression of insanity, or the struggle to retain or maintain sanity. The truth is, YOU are the truth in the end, and all else is questionable.

        Those two paragraphs basically wrote themselves, I had little input. Not sure “who” spoke that through my fingers.

      • Interesting flow of thought.

        I don’t really go for the modern idea that Truth changes or is different for different people. There is one Truth, and what varies is our ability to see it. Some days I just don’t “get it”, while other days I glimpse it. Another thing that varies is people’s paths to the Truth. But in the end there is one Infinite Truth, beyond intellectual comprehension, but beautiful, lovely, and loving. If we humans can ever get beyond killing each other we will realize there is a wonderful Oneness that links us all in a blessed brotherhood. Of course, it is hard to see when the rot sets in and humanity hankers for some ugly genocide, but it is the Truth, beckoning us, but allowing us free will.

      • More a response to my response. Truth is what you see and believe. You choose to see a vast infinite “truth” most would call God, for that is what you see and believe. I would equate God with love, and that, also, is the “truth.” You wish to place “truth” outside and beyond you, I prefer to place truth “within my consciousness,” for, you see, since I see the soul as a shared “shard” of God, the truth, then has no choice but to lie within, for God lies within.

        I am not God, mind you, but that doesn’t prevent Him from seeing through me and being within me. Ah, philosophic, religious concepts are, you know, truth as well. Enjoy life, it is but only the latest chance you have had, but without a doubt, not the last chance.

      • Oh yes, I meant to also say that I am not speaking of a “modern way” of anything. I think you are, since you wish to isolate the truth as some wonderful thing to search for and behold at a distance, but only glimpse. A vision, not a reality. A great separation between you and “it.”

        The reality is that you are integrated with it but you seek your individuality thus must see yourself as separated. I think that may well come from the basic “Christian” idea that the way to God is through Jesus.

        I have never doubted that Christ existed or that he was the son of God, but I also accept that we are all the children of God, thus are each of us “the way.” Christ was a demonstration of how we are supposed to be. We live “his way” and we will all find the Father. The church made him “The Way” for the benefit of the church, not the benefit of the Father. Seek and yee shall find.

  2. Growing older is truth. Moonlight and sunshine are truth. Science and data are what we temporarily believe to be true, until subsequent experience shows them to be false. Earth is the centre of the Universe, things like that. Poets and playwrights tell us that

    “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
    Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

    I’m learning to appreciate poetry as I’m growing older. Thanks, Caleb, keep on trucking.

    • I’ve always enjoyed poetry, ever since childhood. I have discovered, as I have aged, however, that good poetry is becoming scarce, and “writing poetry” is rapidly becoming a lost art. What passes for “poetry,” these days, is a clever manipulation of words, attempting to be profound, and is often nothing but a hinted meaning in an expression written in a clever, artsy form. To each his own.

  3. Quoting Caleb; “I don’t really go for the modern idea that Truth changes or is different for different people. There is one Truth, and what varies is our ability to see it.”

    Amen. Let us struggle together for expression and share in our stumbling human way towards sharpening our vision of the direction towards which Truth may lie.

    I even don’t go for the way some are desirous of messing around with simple human truth. You and I can see truth with different eyes, speak it in different words and still manage to understand we are are groping toward the same entity. Yes, every human can be said to make his own truth. Still, the manufacture of truth is not a capricious process, though it may require overcoming a great deal of the capricious commodity. We as human beings share enough in common to be able to work out an expression of truth and agree that we share an understanding. But it is a process and not something always easy to accomplish. We have a considerable gulf to cross oft times; still, not an impossible one. To say that Truth is different for different people, or changes, is as good as denying Truth exists: and, what ever else may be illusory, such illusions themselves provide the required testimony. If my life is an illusion; I am comfortable with it and all the surrounding illusion. If it is that, then it is necessarily a product of the Truth, which is sufficient validation.

    These guys never lay a finger, much less a hand on Truth. That other commodity, truth, the one we can reach, it is a very human thing. Beware the lawyer minded; such truth’s as the U.S. Constitution are very vulnerable in their hands, and no word is safe in their mouth. They can make the word “Is” cut figure eights using their skates. It is easy to mistakenly or worse deliberately co-mingle Truth, and truth confusing their priorities, as they share the dimension of veracity. Otherwise, truth is limited to human dimensions. In science truth is approximate subject to the limits of measure and subject to the limitation imposed by its expression in symbolic form.. When the processes of measuring. In law truth is vulnerable to all that is human often depending upon a concerted effort by those assembled in the pursuit of justice, but there is no complete guarantee that justice will prevail. Indeed circumstances can exceed the ability of legal processes to accomplish justice. Legal processes are human processes. Need more be said?

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