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I am like an iron cauldron
astir with nature's ingredients
some thickly settled on the bottom
others lightly dissolved in the broth
and when the temperature rises
passions bubble
to the surface
and steam
and steam
and steam
and after some cooling time
an aroma wafts like something
new in the air
but it's not new
it's an old recipe
lifted from a stained page
handed down for generations,
every step followed with slight
difference, and if
the end-product tastes
off
add salt -
it's how we do it
you and me
you get off
from seeing me
come to a boil
cause it leaves
a sticky residue
like sap from the tree
dark and sweet.
Love the metaphor. It's a great description of "stuff" we're made of: "some thickly settled on the bottom/others lightly dissolved in the broth". Bubbling and steaming ... this is where the aroma comes from, but it's also am image of violent and anger? And as much as the aroma is a pleasing one, our sense of uniqueness and individuality is a chimera. It's an old recipe. We are much the same as our ancestors. Same ingredients, same taste. We're not so special.
ReplyDeleteAnd yet ... why can't we be a product of an "old recipe" and still be special, still be unique, even if it's just a very nuanced sense of individuality?
The older I get the less ‘individual’ I feel. Or rather it feels more authentic to acknowledge my essence as being an emergent aspect of universal material and energy. Boy that’s a mouthful. But I think you get what I mean.
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