Overpass

Overpass

Drifting awake . . .

Below, the sound of rushing vehicles — the din of traffic that never ends

Poison gases spew from their exhaust,
Swirling upward to where I’m anchored,
Clinging to the underside of the overpass above the freeway

The days blend together — how long have I been here?
Days? Weeks? Years?
I don’t know

A tiny piece of dirt, the size of a kernel of corn
That’s what I am this time around
Stuck to the underside of the overpass

Long ago on that cold and rainy night,
Thrown upward from the mudflap on that speeding truck
Attached now to the concrete piling
On the underside of the overpass

Powerless to move or communicate or influence my environment in any way
Condemned to endure endless days of passing traffic
And poison gases swirling upward from the exhaust

An endless, unpredictable cycle of reincarnation:
At one time you are a human being, another time a tiny piece of dirt
The size of a kernel of corn
Stuck to the underside of the overpass

Pure consciousness, traveling from host to host
Staying only as long as the fates will allow
And then forced to move on

Unable to control my own destiny
Forced to endure the arid summers and frozen winters
Stuck to the underside of the overpass

Hope? There is no hope
There is only yielding to the void
Accepting the fate you are given

There is no memory of lives past,
No knowledge of lives future

Just the traveling consciousness
Embedded in a tiny piece of dirt
The size of a kernel of corn
Now stuck to the underside of the overpass


Leslie Field, 2006

 

 

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