Excerpt from "Reduced to Joy"
by Mark Nepo
Poem excerpted from the section “Till We Know Each Other”
The Industry of No
He was born in the river of yes
but looking for love wandered into
the industry of no, where the no-police
left warnings of don’t and the no-ministers
preached their morals of can’t. And soon,
he couldn’t help himself, he wanted to
try on no. So when his dog pawed his
shirt, he scolded her no, and when
two kids ran a shopping cart into his
parked car, he cuffed them no. And
when someone he liked started to come
close, he let her near but said he wasn’t
ready. Now he discovered there were
other ways to say no. When he was hired
as a no-engineer, he was sadly happy to work
alone. Steadily, he designed signs that said
stop and electronic guns that fired bullets
with a muffled no. The work of no kept
him very busy. If you called, you heard, “I
am the engineer of no and I am not here.
If you like, leave a no-message and I will
gladly send a no-reply.” He was flooded with
calls. The industry of no was so successful, it
had to hide its money from the government,
lest they say no. When he was promoted to
find other avenues of no, he rode no-planes
to no-cafes where inventors of no pleaded
for new no-funding. Soon, there were movies
that glorified no, and books that pondered
why the no-God was so insistent on no. And
seminars arose where no-scholars came vast
distances to say, “Yes, it has always been a
world of no.” And those specially invited
stroked their worried chins, whispering
to each other, “It is so. It is so,” as a no-
anthropologist traced the beginnings
of no. But they all went home and
dreamt of white geese flapping,
their wings parting
the ancient air.
Poem excerpted from the section “Behind the Thunder”
Lost in Our Ways
I can still taste lying with you
in the afternoon during the storm,
lost in your eyes. After all we know
about each other, I’m stopped by how
our fingers Braille each other’s face.
A few days ago, I held a friend
as he cried, could feel his pain
in my chest.
Some thirty years ago, I held my
brother when his best friend died
from spinal meningitis. I don’t think
he’s ever been the same. And last night
I dreamt about the death of my parents;
my father longing to hold me, my
mother turning away. None of us
able to find each other.
Poem excerpted from the section “From Now to Now”
One More Time
When willful, we think
that truth moves from
our head to our heart
to our hands.
But bent by life,
it becomes clear that
love moves the other way:
from our hands to our
heart to our head.
Ask the burn survivor
with no hands who dreams
of chopping peppers and
onions on a spring day.
Or the eighty-year-old jazz
man who loses his hands
in a fog. He can feel them
but no longer entice them
to their magic.
Or the thousand-year-old
Buddha with no arms
whose empty eyes will
not stop bowing to the
unseeable center.
Truth flows from us,
or so we think, only
to be thrown back
as a surf of love.
Ask the aging painter
with a brush taped to his
crippled hand—wanting,
needing to praise it all
one more time.
Beloved as a poet, teacher, and storyteller, Mark Nepo, the New York Times bestselling author of The Book of Awakening, has been called “one of the finest spiritual guides of our time,” “a consummate storyteller,” and “an eloquent spiritual teacher.” His many books have been translated into more than twenty languages. Mark has appeared with Oprah Winfrey on her Super Soul Sunday program on OWN TV, and has been interviewed by Oprah as part of her SIRIUS XM Radio show, Soul Series. A highly popular workshop leader, Nepo travels internationally. He lives and writes in southwest Michigan.
Reduced to Joy
By Mark Nepo
Foreword by Wayne Muller, author of A Life of Being, Having and Doing Enough
ISBN: 978-1-936740-57-4
Trade paper, $15.95
5 ½” x 7 ¼”, 184 pages
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