Half Life
We walk through half our life
as if it were a fever dream
barely touching the ground
our eyes half open
our heart half closed.
Not half knowing who we are
we watch the ghost of us drift
from room to room
through friends and lovers
never quite as real as advertised.
Not saying half we mean
or meaning half we say
we dream ourselves
from birth to birth
seeking some true self.
Until the fever breaks
and the heart can not abide
a moment longer
as the rest of us awakens,
summoned from the dream,
not half caring for anything but love.
Today I was reading Steven’s Blog, The Golden Fish, where he is talking about how we walk through half our lives with our eyes closed, waiting for that one moment of blinding clarity, then wish we could be in that moment at all times.
It made me think of Stephen Levine’s wonderful poem—one that I have posted on my wall at work at all times and I remembered this photo, that seemed so fitting for his poem. Here it is.
To the two Stevens/Stephens! Thank you Steven of The Golden Fish for your wonderful blogpost and Stephen Levine the great poet and psychologist for the poem, “Half Life”.
--Noelle Renee
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