Paradox (poem)

It occured to me
in a horrid flash of truth
I hate them, well,
dislike them anyway
now
People
like the magazine
only the real ones
walking around

Hate
is too strong a word
but faux extroversion
the last flash
has given way
to a codgerism of death
turtle shell
snapping turtle
armored and defiant
prehistoric
burying (her) eggs
on the side of the dirt road
How can you tell her?
She's too defiant to care....

She is me, as the Jungians say,
she is my dream and I'm her
nightmare
humans and their road graters,
me as guilty as the next

How can this be --
can this "hating people" as you say
be a form of liberation?
a kabbalahistic sephiroth,
ultimately for teaching purposes
as one climbs
(vainly, pathetically)
up the so-called Tree of Life

But I like it
Try it on like a fedora in a thrift store
is this me?
I look around at them
but it is not hate that I feel
not hate
something else
something more philosophical
(not pity either)

Does one, can one "feel" wisdom
"in her mind/body" she always says
like the rest of us, one day,
may catch up

In my mind/body the feeling
is paradox
an insight into a chuckling god
We love freedom
We hate freedom
Anything where there is strong feelings
whatsoever
it applies.
Try it:
love, parents, pets, work,
vehicles, technology, art,
America
You see

You may now explore this
sephiroth
We call it
aging