From the Belly of the Whale: Poems of the Male Soul

Men have been spit up onto shore by whales and great fish since the beginning of time. This has been going on for forever; perhaps, even longer than forever. This may be true. It may also be true that men have spit whales and great fish up onto shore since the beginning of time. This has also been going on or forever; perhaps, even longer than forever. Which of these happened first, I cannot say. Who knows; who can say? Regardless, before being spit up on land both men and fish sat idly by inside the bellies of their captors, ruminating on their fate-wondering what it all meant-what it all means. Men and fish and everything alive wonder about life, and how they fit into it and it into them; as much as they are able to wonder. Some men I have met seem to wonder less than some fish I have met. Who knows; who can say? Our lives are about wondering: wondering about our lives. Each and every living thing yearns toward growth. This longing is nothing but an eternal search, an eternal wondering about everything that is. At some point we lose the beginning into the end; and what came first is dissolved into the ongoing process. Fish then man, or man then fish, no one can say which came first. All we know is that we are held captive, we ruminate, and then we are spit out into a rebirth. Our mythic journeys as men are like this. Sometimes you cannot tell which came first, the idea that you are a man and that you should do a certain thing because of that; or the doing of a certain thing and then later realizing or deciding that you did it because you are a man. Which came first the fish or the man? You cannot be sure and when you think you have become sure, things shift.

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