'There are two ways to go to the gas chamber,
free or not free.' Jean-Paul Sarte
Soft Chaos
I tie my fractured toe to the toe
next to it- after 8 planes, crazy Bali
traffic,2 lanes become 3,4, even 5,6,
motorcycles pass on both sides,
(I break my toe right in my own front room) ...
when I saw this mess, babies and children,
with no helmets, on motorcycles with their
parents, I was horrified- 7 days later
I climbed on the back of a motorcycle
driven by a woman who'd just given me a
heavenly massage for $4 ($10 tip) , her 4-year-old
daughter in front of her, me in a sarong, all of us
no helmets, young Balinese men yelling,
'Mama mia! ' as we zipped by, my sarong
flapping in the sensuous breeze, at the
corner we're almost hit by a bus, no one
gets angry, upset (no problem) , I'm
left wondering if my mangled body
would be cremated here with a grand
ceremony, or shipped back through
customs like stray baggage- then, I think
of all the people at the World Trade Center
falling falling falling flying, their final
choice, moments of freedom, rather than
wait like a prisoner for the fire to
eat them alive- I wept every
time they played it on CNN, now
I understand, I truly understand
their brief flight (I think I always
did) , but to have seen them
fall fall fall fly changed some
thing in me, some thing that felt safe, certain,
orderly. Now I must embrace the
soft chaos,
brief moments
of freedom,
trust.
Bali, October 2001
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
soft chaos, god write, thanks.