It's The Grizzly, It's The Biz

The Dungbeetle's Grizzly poem for 1999.

It's the Grizzly, it's the biz
The race which reaches foreign parts
A test of mind and nerve; not something for the faint of heart.
From far and wide they come in search of self-less circumstance
Overcoming years of hesitation and reluctance.
Then out across the countryside they roam
The one in many, vice and versa (and his wife)
Closer, than they could ever know,
To strifelessness and Home.
They journey out, they journey back
By beach, by field, by off-the-beaten-track.
And on return their shattered frames
Stoop bent but proud to wear the Grizzly name
In recognition of that little bear who dared to self-express
The Way of Running at its best.
It is the Grizzly, it's the biz
A feast of running, yes it is.

It's the Grizzly, it's the biz
The race which speaks with silent breath
Of volumes unconstrained by chance or death.
A gathering of those in exile from this world of dust
To celebrate their common thirst and running-lust
And, for a while, they find they must
Forget man's inhumanity towards himself,
His habitual denial.
They come to rediscover in the core of Grizzly sense
An inner flame of joy, a heart of wholesome innocence,
To become themselves once more:
Endurance-beacons, impervious to extinguishment,
Prepared for many lives of reckless self-relinquishment.
It is the Grizzly, it's the biz
A trial by trail, with friends of fire and storm
To vanish beneath the ocean-waves of agony and form
Into lands of rainbow-light and soft, eternal bliss.

It is the Grizzly, it's the biz
A signpost groping out through clouds of sweat and mist
For dreaming spires of That and This.
A sojourn far beyond the scenery of wood and strand,
Or music from hypnotic, folksy bands
A seeing into mirror-worlds of rock and sand,
A letting-go to realms of alchemy and risk,
To feel the touch of some angelic kiss
It is the Grizzly, yes it is.

They come, they run, they leave in wonder
Having torn themselves apart, asunder
In trust that they, in time,
With greater strength will rise again
(Without the questions why? And how? And when?)
From these ruins of Grizzly-toil and ego-plunder.
It is the Grizzly, it's the biz
It's here, it's now, it carries all
A congregation on an upward fall
Through an open doorway, not a fearful wall.

It is the Grizzly, it's the biz
A journey on the Way of Ways, a memory of ancient days
When life was bathed in Self-Becoming rays.

It is the Grizzly, it's the biz
A running forth from separation and from quest.
A voyage of self-discovery
By cliff and sky and sea
Where peace is not confused with sleep or rest
And most renew their membership
Of the Brotherhood of the Free.
It is the Grizzly, it's the biz
Non-differentiated, neither hers nor his.

It is the Grizzly, it's the best
Forever (almost) young
In riddle, comradeship and jest.

© Dave Kelf, 1999