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The Way Unfound

by David R Spellman

The Yaqui brujo knew it
spoke of it to Castaneda
who veiled it in Indian mysticism
shrouded it in peyote trances
clouded it in a dreaming being
its meaning lost on my youth
I read it then
in his teachings of Don Juan
but forgot to mark the page
lost it mid-chapter
where I should have
made a new start
Instead I drifted,
wandered aimlessly
let the road take me of its own will
rather than finding the right path
choosing my own course
out of this labyrinth
Now I am afraid
I have lost my way
and the years that trail me,
decades of unrecoverable time,
may have led me too far astray
may forever prevent me from finding
my path with heart 


Author's Note: *inspired by Carlos Castaneda's "The Teachings of Don Juan"

Posted on 08/14/2007
Copyright © 2024 David R Spellman

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Anne Engelen on 08/14/07 at 08:23 AM

and yet the unrecoverable time you described to me just feels like "taking a break" and it sounds like you're ready to wander on again yet this time more focused. Totally enjoyed this piece!

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 08/15/07 at 01:42 AM

A tragedy in process. Dramatically and eloquentily related. (Never too late for the earnest and honest seeker.)

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 08/15/07 at 01:43 AM

I meant to type tragedy in progress (guess it may be both!)

Posted by Mara Meade on 08/16/07 at 10:07 PM

Akh. Poignant. I see the author looking back over his shoulder as he tries to focus on the very present. This speaks not only to a possible regret but to the way we often, especially at this point in our lives, think, "Wait. I was told about this but I don't remember the exact words; and I'm ready, now, to understand."


Posted by Genevieve Sturrock on 08/17/07 at 01:01 AM

"....and the years that trail me, decades of unrecoverable time, may have led me too far astray..." wonderful turn of phrase here. very enjoyable read. thank you.

Posted by Glenn Currier on 08/18/07 at 05:49 PM

Ah, you tell a piece of my story. I read only parts of this work back when I too wandered and wondered. Strange how your poem brought me back to the formless urge within me to smoke that stuff and find there a higher or more sublime path. To this day, my fascination remains and curiosity about what it would have been like to join him in the desert, if only for a few days, and how my life's paths might have turned differently because of the experience. Thanks for this artful reminiscence.

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