Theo Horesh is the author of Convergence: The Globalization of Mind.
He is a former cooperative organizer and host of the Conscious Business podcast.
More recently, he co-founded The One-Step Peace Solution, which would mandate
fair and equal courts in areas under Israeli control. He is also the author of a
forthcoming book of interviews, The Inner Climate: Global Warming From the
Inside Out, with leading thinkers like Frances Moore Lappe, George Lakoff,
Paul Ehrlich, and Andrew Revkin. He has been meditating for 25 years and
currently resides in Boulder, Colorado.
The Final Hour Before Sunset
As a poet, I have been blessed with the love of many women
As a philosopher, I have been doomed to lose them.
All these years and the pattern still holds.
Donít be so negative, then say it cannot get worse:
It can always get worse; true crucifixions leave you
Broken by enemies and abandoned by friends.
Sometimes I am content to hang from a vine,
On a thousand foot cliff face, with hungry lions below,
Tasting a strawberry, as rats gnaw away at salvation.
What to do when there are no good options,
But take a deep breath and swan dive
Into the mouths of lions.
A moment arrives when the epic unwinds,
And the great love burns like a dying sun,
And you claw at the wind,
And you thrash at the walls,
Until the missed kisses fade
As tears just pour from the rainbow.
We walked a tightrope across a vast canyon,
Stood on the ledge and danced with the winds.
At times it felt like skipping on the roofs of boxcars
As this train wreck love crumpled in the night.
Now we meditate on the wreckage.
Kiss me once more in the final hour before sunset,
Taste me before this great play comes to an end.
Perhaps all love is both a species of dying
And a clinging to life 'mid the storms of fate.
Let us smile as we step into the night.
Love is, if anything, a walk into the unknown.
Last Night We Sacrificed Our Love
Last night we sacrificed our love,
Then lit the fuse and blew it all apart,
I handed you my heart before
You sailed away on a fading cloud.
You said, the mountainís so high,
Coming down might be the end.
I said, the ocean is bigger
Than these two breaking cups.
You said, the air tastes of angels,
And the continents keep breaking.
I said, let me lap at your shores
And taste your uncorked tears.
Now somehow we make love,
In the quiet distance between
Life and oblivion, through a
Soft thread, wavering in the night.
This raw and pulsing organ
Trembles freely in scales of silence,
Where measured breaths inhale the stars.
There is a structure to these couplings,
In which our laughter is the echo of
God staring himself in the mirror.
We are but melodies, woven
Into the score of the universe,
Tears raining on cool wet skin.
The wind tastes of jasmine,
Everything melts to the touch.
Let the magnitude of these ripples
Widen to unknown spheres.