The Cabin

1983. Fatty offered me

His isolated cabin on the Missouri.

He’d supply food and firewood, lamp oil,

Leave me for a month-long retreat.

He said to me, You will never find peace

Until you remove outer distractions

And look within. Terrified, I refused.

Eventually I found counselors

Who drew me out, bit by bit. Always,

I held back secret places, perhaps

Secret only to myself. Half measures

Seemed giant steps to me.

Thirty-five years later, in Mexico,

By choice, I live alone in a brick cabin,

On a ranch on the outer edge

Of an inland village, my Paradise,

Surrounded by beauty so intense

That upon arising, I greet each morning

Knowing it to be a Gift, my life

Pared down to a bare simplicity.

In moments of nothingness,

Paired with dreams I’d rather not,

In essential pain, in memories ugly,

From the incomprehensible

Comes new understanding.

Other truths, complexities easy to avoid

In the cluttered world. Forgiveness for

The unforgivable. Courage. Peace.

Fatty was right. I wish I could tell him.

But, perhaps he knows.