Poetry and prose from Bent Myggen

01/02/01
It was a time of discovering that there was no other time than now:

There isn't anybody who could pay me to live like this.
But the lessons I am learning are priceless.
The music, the ideas,
sitting out on a warm night,
looking into the universe.
Seeing the Moon
between the branches of the Oak Tree.
- these are universal moments.
There is joy inside me
to simply be allowed to live another day.
To smell the Jasmine or the Sage.
To walk on Earth
as gravity holds me like a lover
until I float back out among the stars.

Can I give this joy to another? I don't think I can.

It is the immortal's joy of being mortal,
and it is just for me.

Copyright notice: Original poetry for perusal & download for personal use.
Reprint is permitted if source or link is mentioned (e.g. www.BentMyggen.com or VisionEars.com)

Poetry, thoughts & inspirations

This is a gallery of personal discoveries
during a period from 2000 to 2006.

After
10 years of marriage,
a son of 7 years,
owning a house, running up debt, bankruptcy, foreclosure -
I was now going through the dreaded Separation & Divorce.

Life had become an endless cycle of stress and worry about money. Depression followed, I was diagnosed with ADD. (Prozak and Dexedrine was interesting)

So we went our separate ways and agreed to raise our son 50/50.

She found a new place to live, I bought a VW van and discovered life in the moment.

One time I would see a woman holding her lover, and I had a flash of someone out there, waiting for me.

I saw your kiss
fly by me without warning
Holding me forever
in it's longing for a home.

Your hand
would touch his throat
so gently,
yet
your mind was only faintly there.

I knew
you were alive
and yet longing to exist.

Writing by hand became magical. I would start to write without thinking first and watch what came forth:

The mind is blank
Each moment passes
As each page is turned
I write the meaning
into life on the page

What was here before my pen?
Nothing?
An infinate sea of possible words.
The pen traces the dots
of just one possibility
and it becomes
what is so
The page turns:

I danced
And I'm willing to tumble
Ready to throw down my fate
You
could be my lover
If you are here
It is not too late


Mikael, my son now 9 years old would sleep with me in the camper on my days with him. We'd play on the beach, walk in the mountains and I would watch his face dreaming as I played the guitar at night.
	04/08/01NOTE: Today I was the camera with the visit of my son's best friend - both nine years old. I mentally framed into cinemascope scene after backlit spring-filled scene of them (1) balancing along the railroad tracks through the forrest. (2) Running down a narrow, overgrown path leading to the ocean - side by side - each competing to discover something first. A large Greyback Crane was in their path, and took off from their approach. I mentally recorded it all and tried to tag the scenes for playback upon my death - as one of those perfect moments.
	I thought: Here we are so many of us anxious and fearful - and in the same time-frame beauty and perfection occurs.	Perhaps... Our ability to witness life's perfection often is in reverse proportion to how much stuff we own And in direct proportion to how much we can trust that In this moment all is given that we need. And that this moment does not stop Ever...



	Introduction:

After 10 years of marriage, a son of 7 years, owning a house, running up debt, bankruptcy, foreclosure - I was now going through the dreaded Separation & Divorce. Life had become an endless cycle of stress and worry about money. Depression followed, I was diagnosed with ADD. (Prozak and Dexedrine was interesting)
		If I was not who others wanted me to be, then who was I?



The Following are excerpts from my personal log-book, observations, ideas, poems, etc.
	11/14/00 There is no man within me now No joy No gentle whisper My voice has died and in it's place an angry storm so fierce it tears my heart apart. There is no room for me no more No work to go to no smiles to meet no lucky draw no more.
		I could spit I could rave I could just kick and scream But here I sit as mute as wood To sleep and hope to dream


My brother bought a sailboat and asked me to help sail it down from San Francisco to LA. It took 5 days. This was written along the journey.

	11/28/00 Across the water of Half Moon Bay A dream stepped out Another stayed As seabirds crossed the crimson sky A love was found Another died
		And from this quiet harbor A journey will begin To set the sails of life ablaze with fire from within.



	After walking away from "everthing" I realized that all I really needed to live was a dry, warm and safe place to sleep. It was a very freeing realization and I found moments of joy again. I loved my little cabin on whells when it rained: 3/23/2000 I don't want to sleep again For the waves are still crashing in the moonlight and the spray of tears feel like joy tonight I don't want to wait for the rain when the drops play the roof in the rhythm of my heart. I have a senseless, shameless light within me and I don't want to sleep again.				One time I would see a woman holding her lover, and I had a flash of someone out there, waiting for me. I saw your kiss fly by me without warning Holding me forever in it's longing for a home. Your hand would touch his throat so gently, yet your mind was only faintly there. I knew you were alive and yet longing to exist.


	4/30/00 Something always comes when I stretch out my hand Always there's a pebble on the beach Something always knows and though I don't know of a plan Fate is getting close enough to reach.


I met Rev. George Barrett and his wife Petina at the end of his life. He had been the first Episcopalian bishop to ordain women into the ministry - to the utmost consternation of the church, and a very compassionate man. As these words were written, he passed on.
	George is dying Sipping air like tea in the afternoon Hour by hour the minutes go by. George is in line His ticket in hand waiting for the doors of the movie house to open. His sentries are here, His angels of mercy On both sides of the golden door They wait.	And sadness reign as we cannot join in the feast for him today. His work now done His will is gone New life a breath away. Sleep soon Sweet prince May your soul be dazzled soon again.


		06/26/00 I saw an man on a bus in Los Angeles many years ago. He carried bags of paper and notes and he was busily writing more notes. He wrote and wrote Turned the paper and wrote more. I don't know what he wrote Or who the notes were intended for. He had no home. I don't know if he had any friends. I hoped then I would not become him in the end. And now I am.


Through these years, I had come upon a dance-group, and every Wednesday I joined them in free-form improv. There was one women I felt a special excitement about. We had fabulous and inspired encounters, but we never spoke, and after the dance she always disappeared in a puff. She became my Mystery Woman.
	01/22/01 I danced And I'm willing to tumble Ready to throw down my fate You could be my lover If you are here It is not too late
		01/23/01 Note to Self: If you enjoy your own company you are not alone.


	02/10/01 This Book already has too many words. Do I write because I want to reach you, the reader? In that case, why? Do I need you to confirm my own existence? I am now here And you are in my future. You don't yet exist, but in my mind you do. If you read this, I may not exist But in your mind I will. Perhaps In that connection My heart tries to reach yours and make it's love last into eternity.