I stared, and stared, into a leaf
until my vision changed.
And I could see the whole, wide world
so artfully arranged.
The leaf, it mapped my universe
from atom to the sprawl.
Compressed, layer-on-layer, there
was one and, at once, all.
But before I could grasp all that
this vision truly meant,
a gust of wind did catch that leaf,
and fluttering it went.
I saw the lips move, but no sound came out. The message could not cross from air to brain. With reddened face, next an attempted shout, but silence suggests words weren't true but feigned. You'll think me deaf, but I heard other sounds: a ticking clock, a fan, and distant horns. Maybe, barrier glass made unseen bounds? Perhaps, but what bars only sound that mourns? I know of nothing that would fit the bill, but start to suspect nothing stopped the scream from reaching me, but rather force of will did stick that voiceless face within my dream. But am I sure I'm having a nightmare? I can't say for sure that I'm even here.
When I was a child,
for a time,
the bridge was out.
They were replacing the rusty
iron trestle bridge
with a thick-slab concrete
monstrosity.
I could go down to the river,
and I could see the
scarred and marred
construction site,
& the big yellow machines
that sat dormant on the weekends.
But one couldn't cross the river --
not unless one was willing to get wet,
and was a better swimmer than I
(and it was autumn & the water cold.)
It was a strong current that swept
along between two steep banks.
It was not a great distance,
nor were they violent waters.
But that brown water moved with
such smooth swiftness.
I dream about the time the bridge was out,
now & again,
and wonder what it was
about those weeks
that still has meaning to my mind.
I exited through my old, mundane door, and heard a melody so blissful / sweet, and saw some colors never seen before. That song, those sights, danced me down the street. A neon breeze both warmed and cooled my face. The pleasure wave that I'd once known as sin was flaring, with no feelings of disgrace, but up my spine a trill of violin. Euphoric, I ran 'til I felt lungs burn -- so fired with energy that my bones hummed -- But as I felt the wheels begin to turn, I realized the depths must remain unplumbed. Before my druthers, I had to go back. To sustain this would give me a heart attack.
It was a moment of silent spaciousness. In the midst of a fight, there was no enemy -- just the effortless dance of the thing. That moment expanded to the infinite, & snapped back to one tick after the tock. Since then, no catastrophe has felt too great for a smile.
ideas accelerate to the surface like air bubbles from whence they came, i cannot say they passed up from below the lit sea from the darkness maybe, like air bubbles, they follow a mostly straight path, but i cannot say for certain what happens below the light i catch only the vapor that drifts up out of the popping bubbles and it must be gathered quickly before it spreads on the wind, becoming lukewarm nothing... damn increasing entropy!
Plunging into darkness, there is no other way. In the tomb-like silence, the mind begins to stray. To roam, to roam, to roam, or does it simply sink; with neither light nor eyes, one might just be hoodwinked.
My war days are long past. I'm not quick to beat drums. I've neither king nor caste. I've seen the winter come. Fearful norms have no hold. The law has lost its sway. I've broken from the mold, and turned a roving stray. Crazy sages / role models: those freed from conventions, who can't stand for twaddle, and shun all pretensions.
There is an angry beast inside who shakes at me sometimes. It gives me mean and violent thoughts. It draws no moral lines. It'd kill them all in vicious ways without heartfelt remorse. This fever of being must be, until it's run its course. Then I can be civil again, and my blood can cool. And I can play my normal role: -n- be done playing the fool.
deep in the cave,
there’s a hole that knows no light;
everything
and nothing can reside
within that black hole
Tiger Riding for Beginners 