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I think of time as
it was then,
something to speak
of in tangible terms,
when I am young.
When I was young
and knew not false
within my
egg,
the things so well
involved,
that lurked just
outside my
frosted shell.
A modern thing,
already cracked
upon entering the
decompression
chamber.
Which still to me
through
breath, yield
daylight visions.
as the most vivid
detail now,
silently.
When I was young
and thought
not much of time
for it evaded me in
transparent
dress
barefooted,
laughing and dancing
through my youth
disguised in the
floral gaiety of
reality unknown
what I know now to
be either the
feeling of
exhilarated vibrations
(which is all we
are at the point of
complete freedom
and awareness)
of on another
plateau,—
the
worlds of knowing or doing
(which
is parallel to the previous
to
the same end)
When
I was young
discovering
and plucking from trees
the
bitter and the sweet fruit
to
place upon my tongue
the
experience of both
to
lend to self the highest shadow
illumined
by the sun and the moon,
wind
and rain, night and day,
to
swell beyond environment (physical
and mental) seeking all other’s
way.
Individual under gods.
Having made ready the acceptance
of
the immediate trail.
To add to love
the vastness of of is,
the validity of was,
the solidity of now,
forever.
When I was young
I spent my eyes
in noisy places, only
seeing
and recording every vision
within the illusion
true and false it mattered not.
But that it was
that day to be
as I went on investigating
the in-between worlds.
When I was young
time seemed so vague
so transparent there,
as I sat spending my ears
in quiet places
time or rather its concept
was withering away
and I realized that all
springtime has felt
ever
was winter’s cold hand upon
her back
and yet I know, not a single
tear
was shed for herself
but for April’s sake.
I watched the wind becoming
hypnotized
by nature’s long misunderstood
mind
and function
I saw it run off following a
songless bird
nowhere
time still withering away
all but springtime’s fear
will perish hence.
When I was young
following my pre-adolescent
true nature
through subway tunnels
involved rhythmically with the
spaces
between the tracks
in all its ever clacking
glorious existence
and I thought “Oh hear the
real heartbeat
of transportation”
while all the time, I knew
that it was only a physical
artery
placed deep beneath the skin of
the earth
and although the heartbeat was
its own,
it was only the sound I could
relate
to my mother
and not the feeling
my adventures, predestined only
by the patronage of me to myself
ofttimes
cast me upon worlds
of shattered dreams
glowing of broken joys
floating
and I realized it was only Times
Square,
or Grand Central Station, or
home.
When I was young
and inner misty, lurking shadows
fell upon the light of day
when the steadiness of the sea
was fatal
I stretched myself on a long
beach
under the greyest of skies
and the brightest horizons
thinking.
days upon days I pondered.
my thoughts most inverted
whispering underneath my mind’s
ears
“Oh the fate of mankind,
the most disastrous
of time and space,
the epitome of forever.”
When in the brightest darkness,
below, above, about,
wherever we lie, and/or
stripped of moral behavior
patterns
and cleansed of physical chains,
that bound our minds
to physical means. (Adam
a petty thing within us be).
How I am young
when I am the realization
of the universe within
a single thought.
Which traced an infinite
string over the edge of
individuality into the realm
of heaven (realm of ideas)
for the first time without
fear of death,
Adam’s folly.
Desecrating his temple (body)
with age
as if it were not a part
of his soul, never aging
And worshipping it as if
it were master
and watching it all die in
a silver eye, the steadiest
sea, upon the wall
unnecessarily
How I am young,
when I realized
the universe within
the actuality of all
that is.
All that is yet beyond
me, save acceptance.
All that is without
me
and all that is within
me, where all is
and cannot help but
wonder
who tells you who you are?
How I am young
as I am the master
of my ship, its rudder.
its gale, its port from
which it no longer needs
to sail. Which is today, this
very moment, now
— Richie Havens
(Mixed
Bag, official debut
album, Verve Folkways LP FTS-3006, 1966)
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