Ballina

© Copyright Iain MacDonald, 2008

On the road to Ballina, I leave before first light
Stop to peruse a hundred books, on the way
To discover the doings or beings of secret masters.

The carpenter with calloused hands
White witch, bare back rider with her book of dreams
We knew each other in another life
I saved a child from butcher’s knives
She gave me shelter, others would not
We even fought, bare knuckled warfare
Bruised and battered, lost and won, we smile
We’ve lived in the abode of truth
The only sacrifice, happiness and woe
Others scoff, it’s their loss
They know not the school of rules.

I pull over to take a rest north of Maclean
In fields of sugar cane, all I see above me
skies of stars and galaxies, Is it in this field
I’ll find the Book of Wisdom
The Holy Grail?

So much sugar, too much sugar
A breakfast of chocolate bars
Highs that crash, empty calories
Sick of sweeteners, no sustenance
No food for thought
this is no troubled Israel
somewhere in between
the farmyard and a water wheel
where in hell is the precious jewel
I keep on looking, for, like a fool
I find the Book of Nonsense.

How and what to understand?
I come across a man
Selling a cool car, circa 1958
The maker made in 1964
There are some things I can’t explain
I am a man who gives more or less
Who juggles inward and outward
knowledge or wisdom
When I die I dedicate my life
To my next.

I keep thinking, thinking
Thinking about my story
Your story, their stories
Six billion stories
How to know them all
There is only one story ...

60 in a 50 zone
3 more points and I’m a collector
Tired, relentless truck drivers
Fume up guzzling liquid gold
Delivering goods we think we need
That will help to destroy Chinese countryside
Push up the price of oil

This will slow us down
Maybe we hope.
Why do we do what we do?
Where are we going?

One long slow curve, my hands on the wheel
Eyes in front, focused
In the rear view I see love behind me
More ahead. A wave of love. Tidal
Can we have too much?
Don’t love in vain.

Finally Bal – li – na
I’ve had grander receptions
A tired, sad man whose son
wrecked his house, lost in a haze of drugs
Sixty thousand in damages
He wails in jail, cold turkey, shit life
Once he was a little boy, playing
how he became a man distressed
Distressing his family in this way?
Life has not turned out the way he imagined
the way he planned; he has prostate cancer
his wife emphysema, at smoko the ambo whisks her away
the lady next door refuses to let me use her hose
she pays for this water don’t you know!

Where is the book of wisdom for Human machines
Who’ve lost their way, service long overdue
you laugh at connotations, machine wrapped in flesh
is life meant to be this way?
True masters know
Everything is as it should be
Recently I was, and again today
Reminded again, again, again
It will always be this way.

Everything has consequence
You do this you’ll get that
You do that and you’ll get this
We continue to destroy Our home, our planet
We did this. We got this.

My trip to Ballina was worth it
I discovered a holy grail
The book of wisdom can wait
Life is beautiful. Life is
Is is is is ...

Cherish this beautiful planet
When and if it does expire
There are billions more
Beauty in all the pain
We never
We never
We never die.

TRUTH.