leave a mark to say so

We write our own names
on sand, snow etc. for the same
inscrutably primal cause
we tattoo ourselves, or build
a house, or even climb a tree.
It is a claim.
In that moment, we catch ourselves
in an act of belonging. Not only: this is ours,
but: I am here to say so. Or: I will leave a mark
to say so.
Some marks are more delible
than others. A name or a heart
carved into the shifting surface
of the earth is fast melted away
by rains, tramped into palimpsest
by passersby - including possibly, dogs.
It matters not. In the moment, we carved
our mark into the moment. Into the surroundings.
Into ourselves. From the top of a tree to the top
of a hiking trail breaking out over a clifftop vista,
we carve with our eyes
and gorge ourselves.
This is ours.
Some surroundings are too large for us
to meaningfully carve, but we can turn the spike around
and carve it into our minds.
This is ours.
I am here.
I own this moment.
Even: I rule!
Yeah you know what?
You do.
Welcome to earth, kid.
You were made for this place
and vice versa. That feeling uneasy,
impermanence? It’s just a passing illusion,
and the wellspring of such muchness. Such
frenetic drive to be, be, be. Don’t sweat it.
There’s great value in such being, frenetic
and otherwise, as you will find and know and do.
The uneasy feeling, impermanence? Is illusion.
You are impermanent, at least in some pretty
important sense. But the uneasiness is illusory:
and you will be easy with it one day. Meantime,
claim this. It is here and so are you,
so it is yours.
For you are its.
We carve our names
and make our marks invisible
on all we stop to see. All place,
all object, we sign with our eyes,
but sometimes - our eyes being what they are -
we crave a more visible sign. And a long stick
on the beach calls to us, like the palette knife
to its master’s hand.
All the world’s a canvass,
and sometimes when the mood is fey
and strikes just so, we like to put our name
in a little corner of it. Sometimes right in the skin.
A signature.
A claim.
A colored design of our choice and taste,
to show who has designs on us. We do. To show
whose self this is: it is ours. It came
into the world the world’s, to be sure. It has
every day in the making and shaping of this self
become more ours.
Each of us:
the thing that has always looked out from behind these eyes.
Each other:
a universe we’ve never seen, and themselves the only possible guide.
We’d like to be the ones doing the carving.
But a lot of the time,
it’s not our own name we carve.
This too is claim, and in the blessedest
of circumstances, it is a claim fully-given.
It is ours.