The Bus Ride

This is weird!

I’m on a bus in the Karoo,

B-grade movies blasting away,

Unsettling,

Offending,

Disturbing me

I can’t understand why,

Or who chose them for me,

Watching movies here?

It just highlights the house of cards that this global society is,

A simulation of life is what it is,

And out here,

There is no hiding from it

All you have to do is look,

Look out at what this semi-arid golden hilled,

Natural piece of land,

Spinning through space,

Actually is:

Reality,

The nature of nature,

Even what man does out here looks natural,

His fencing and rails and roads look insecure,

Dwarfed!

This is what I’ve always loved about the Karoo

When you look out at this,

You feel alone,

But not like you do in the city,

Here you feel alone,

But you feel presence,

Am I the only person on earth who feels this?

This craving to re-join or be a part of …

When I see the clouds meet the horizon so far away that it becomes indiscernible,

Distant,

And all around you,

You feel the globe of the earth

This is what it means to feel infinity,

To know it,

To savour it,

And find your place in it

I am no longer a child,

But I am a child!

Colours so subtle,

But so deep,

They lure you in to join them,

Purples and golds,

I wish I could dive into it,

Like some big swimming pool

Ah,

Time moves slowly here,

With lots of blues slowing it down,

Those clouds …

Here,

I can drink in the earth,

 With this big moon-ball,

Hanging high above the horizon,

Clouds streaming towards it,

Like great water highways of rivers,

Niagaring towards the big blue,

Indiscernible in the distance

I know this was needed,

The Bus Ride,

The moon,

Like a rock-locked pebble,

Rocks in and out of these great rivers,

And the poetry,

For once,

Lies outside this window

The sun leaves only hues of purple-blue to remind us of the day

Its wake, every day,

Leaves our consciousness refreshed,

Rested, unstressed,

With its hues challenging boxed perceptions,

Colours blending of their own accord

Beauty lies in process,

Aesthetic is what is left behind,

The scraps off the table,

The Maya,

Left behind for everyone else to piece together!

What is this world if full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare?

So here we are making more movie violence,

This time ancient violence

It seems this theme is persistent,

Our ever present madness!

Until we truly lose this we will be bound by it,

Never to truly live,

So we are trapped in a hell of our own making!