QUESTIONS OF THE PITUITARY GLAND

What is appropriate in the young makes

What is not appropriate in later years appropriate for them

Ages of life pay their dues to time

Is it the body that counts age and appropriates ideals?

Makes youth intense and mellows age?

Questions of the pituitary gland

Maybe the body ticks time, but can it spawn behaviors?

Mentation, personality, development

Growth hormones dictate our humanity like the lives the three Moerae fated for all humans

Spinning the threads of who we will be

Tied up in bounds of determinism by the pituitary gland

 

Falstaff and Hal foreshadowing the youthful madcap role I played

In and out of the schoolbooks and classes, such a trope humanity scripted it in Elizabethan drama

Learning lessons of acquiescence in middle-age to gods that held my fate

Metamorphosis of the reading lists of my professors into bosses’ memos

Become pliant, compliant, indeed, obedient, to the machine I used to rage against

I wouldn’t say it was glandular as much as pecuniary forces

That forced me to slog through time in middling age

Chasing my dreams off the ambitious clock

Bouncing through relationships until one remains as if all along it was fate

 

And now, in arm-chair reflections of it all I ask questions of stories

The storied stages of humanity’s ageless morphology

The taxonomy of the human condition

Authored by us as one glimpse of the whole in the likes of Erikson, the psychologist—

Even the corpus of humanity’s iterations writ large upon our world literature

And I, a person, a representative man, following the trajectories as it seems to me are possible

Narrations of the human genome

OUR OWN MIND

They say water seeks its own level

Some make it a matter of Karma

Put in strongest terms, its Fate

I prefer destiny

I’m certainly following my own path

In spite of the world’s exigencies

Sometimes partnering with the world’s exigencies

Funny how little I am affected by outside forces

I’m a man of my own mind

Doing my own thing and loving it

I now walk with another, together

We are of one mind in our individuality

We are doing our own thing and loving each other

Funny how little we are affected by outside forces

Seems like the currents of our streams sought each other

Though, in fact, improbable we ever would have met

And me antipathetical to the concept of Fate

SEVERAL THREADS OF LIVES

The three fates spin the thread of our life at birth

At times, so it seems with the life I know

Then, there are my choices

The threads I spun for myself:

 

The shock of working at a nursing home

Seeing the incapacitation

Drove me to drive myself in everything

I went all-out, all-in

My endeavor coursed through my ambition to achieve

And so, one thread

 

The intensity driving me drove me

Just to get by

When incapacitation overwhelmed me,

Overmedication disabled my abilities

“I can’t believe you could function,” my psychiatrist said

And so, one thread

 

Early aspiration realized late

Struggling to live out a livelihood dreamed of

In real time, in tension with tendentious intractable relations

Resolute in my own reality realizing my dreams

Despite detractors, determined

And so, one thread

 

Was it the thread spun by the three fates

At my birth?  Or spun by my own making?

In parallel universes I envision

Other roads I could have traveled by

Other doors opened, different possibilities, different choices

Other outcomes, other goals, other achievements

Other selves which could be me

Other lives I could live

Here I am, am who I am

In this life, spun by the three fates, or by me