The Blue-Eyed Owl

The Negative Way

My ancient enemy the blue-eyed owl

lies in wait for me in the forest of my words

false prophet-bird clothed in the plumage

of phenomenology, he glides ghostlike through

the naked limbs of my thoughts ever ready

to distract me from what is real and true. 

I have often felt the brush of his feathers against

my cheek and noticed that his eyes are blue

But I forget that I should slay him one more time

believing I’ve already done - only to feel his

feathers once more against my cheek, and  

realize again that the battle is still not won. 

I have slain him indeed so many times, that  

my arm, like Alexander’s arm ,has grown weary from

the slaughter: and still, he flutters back to life

arising from the ashes of my complacency like the

phoenix bird of ancient legend to taunt me with his

presence and beguile me with the touch of his feathers. 

He knows well my language and has carefully studied 

how I like to pontificate with symbol and metaphor 

fabricating words and manipulating signs in order

to pleasure myself in the fleshpots of speculative thought.

I know he still has the power to entice me with these

bitter fruits because of my weakness.  

I must hide myself in the sheltering darkness of a way

that leads to a place that is a no-place place, and whose

only entrance is by a secret path that is not a way

and it is there in that all-encompassing darkness that

I can become mindfully secure and joyously awake

where the blue-eyed owl cannot find me.