I Was Just the Postman


A comment I wrote about the poem titled, “When I Was Born.”

This is one of my favorite pieces not just because it describes what childbirth might be like but, I think it’s beautifully written.  I like how it flows and trips along with cadence and sound.

Hey! I can comment about my own work can’t I?  It wasn’t even ‘Me’ who wrote the thing.  I remember it well.  “I felt a slight glow on the pads of my fingers a kind of pulsing and I began to stroke the keys and it felt like my digits were being guided by Aphrodite herself.”  

Not quite.  More like, my inner roulette wheel spinning words and with the luck of the draw I was able to catch a few every once in a while.

Anyway.  BIRTH!  The most significant event of our lives!  (And, at such a young age!)  After all being born into this fucked up world is no easy job.  It’s true!  Ask any new born kid!

Birth!  It’s the door we step through to gain entry into this place with its good and bad and every increment in between, evil and good and all the polar opposites that are the price we pay for living on a planet with a North and South Pole.  Shit!

Then, there’s the mistakes we make!  Think about how many concussions you’ve given yourself after slapping your self in the forehead saying, “You dumb shit!”  Or, I coulda’ had a V8 but with the can.

But that’s life!  Right?

The never ending parade that cascades before us, our journey through light with density that we are contained within and can exist in along with other beings just like us and we like them; plants and animals, trees and birds and all those finials from biology no species better or worse we think we are the high ideal but, all we’ve ever done is destroy things.

Yet, BIRTH continues.

Perhaps we judge our lives by how significantly apart we grow from the newborn child’s ultimate experience; the outside and the inside world coming face on with each other at birth, a double brightness, a kind of symbiotic relationship with light given/taken in/returned/then, given back in a never ending cycle.

Just like love and marriage.  Right?  Except, you can’t have one without the other.

Or, on the abstract level, seen in its entire and completely different and absurd light and really hard to understand level; if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it is there a noise?

THAT’S ONE FOR THE AGES ISN’T IT REXI?.  Fuck yes! There’s NOISE because there’s SOUND because the WHOLE PLACE heard the tree fall by the birds and the other trees and the lichen and the bear who was rubbing his butt when the tree fell.  Jeez.  What a ridiculous posit that, if a human being wasn’t present there MIGHT NOT be no sound.  That’s kind of pre infantile thinking isn’t it?  Oh?  It’s not important?  Good.

(That, and the angels dancing on the heads of pins discussion always gets me.  Sooooo interesting.  Someone should put THAT posit on a post it note and file it in the floor file.)

I think that every day it’s possible that at some point in time when time is the right time and the stars and all that other crap fit together just right I could find myself in the ‘real’ world behind all of the facades of daily life.  We need those facades but they can be all consuming!

To suddenly experience the revery of speechless awe at the world around us.  We all KNOW that other place is here, waiting to be experienced.  Is that desire what keeps us going?

I think that, as life moves along we judge the degrees of success with our lives by the baseline of CHILDBIRTH.  Which brings us back to the poem.

The words in that poem flowed through my fingers with such DELIGHT!

Wull … it’s ok to comment on my own work isn’t it? Actually, I don’t even know who wrote this piece remember?  I was just the postman.  Check out the post, “When I Was Born.”  I hope you like it as much as I do.  Au’revoir.



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  1. Touba70

    You might be interested in Nutshell, a book by Ian McEwan written entirely from the perspective of an unborn fetus.


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