In Lesson

image borrowed from bing

In Lesson

“I have an almost religious zeal for the Internet,

which is for me, the nervous system of Mother

Earth--which I see as a living creature linking up.”

--Dan Millman

When I hit 60,

I was breaking a lot of speed limits

and embarking on my sweetest decade,

a sexagenarian techno-voyage of discovery.

I barely knew my way around the Net,

only possessed utilitarian quasi-luddite skills,

and when I could clearly see Retirement

skipping along the horizon like a wild thing

to be captured and cultivated before

I could integrate it into my life,

somehow it dawned on me

that my ignorance was both

intolerable and unnecessary.

I needed to dig in, to shed light

on those dark mysterious gaps

in my supposed wisdom--

not just be content to play

on my still young blog site;

for I hungered to tackle obstacles,

needed to participate in the shining vastness

of International Fellowship,

to seek out those unknown treasures

I had heard about in hushed whispers,

to introduce myself

as writer, loose cannon, liberal, budding photographer,

boomer, teacher, and former actor.

Nothing less than an intense training regiment;

in bed by 8 p.m.--up at 3 a.m.,

boots on the ground before sunrise,

wheels on the freeway before

the vehicle hordes gathered,

sliding stealth-fully clean

through zero dark thirty

like a mind missile on a drone mission;

giving myself two full hours to study,

to play, to create a cherished future;

getting my morning pump by writing

more poetry, introducing myself

to Facebook, YouTube, & then Twitter,

gleefully garnering new friends,

mostly artists and poets,

mixed liberally with old friends,

rocketing across the years,

reinstating personal connections

that were vague, hoary, covered

in dust bunnies and spider webs,

reaching back and reaching forward

simultaneously;

flying high and getting low,

getting absolutely addicted,

but truly digging it, with that

cyber-hook swallowed, its tendrils

bulging in my proud cheeks,

shaking like a cat shitting tacks,

excited, stimulated, satiated

as I leaped into the dark sink hole

that opened up yawning before me,

dropping like a sack of rocks

before finding that I had wings

under my shirt, butterflies in my pockets,

birdsong bursting in my chest,

becoming radiantly aware that with what

was left of my lifetime I would never

hit the bottom, never arrive

in China.

Glenn Buttkus

February 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets MTB

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