When I was younger, I would read picture books about Nature. I would pour intensely over every picture and drawing, fascinated with all the green plants and small animals that existed there. What a fantasy land! I’d never seen green in my life. None of it was left. All gone. I wanted to run and play in the speckled sunshine, and laugh with the babbling brook. I wanted to sit and let the little animals walk around me. But I knew I would never. This childhood dream was almost lost; just a wisp on the edge of my memory. I grew up through life, moving all through the City, from the US down, down, all the long long streets and concrete towers. There was always more of the City. It never ended. I lived next to the sea for a long long time, enthralled by its color and movement. I couldn’t stand the City, but I couldn’t escape. I had to keep moving to stay sane. I went south, always further south, until I hit a wall. A wall? There was no way through. What could be on the other side? What happened to the City? What could it be? Perplexed, I resolved to cross the wall and find out. I walked along the edge, until finally I found a crumbled, lower section. I scrambled up, over the loose concrete and jumped down on the other side. I rubbed my eyes. It couldn’t be! All around me, there was forest! Large green trees and plants and flowers and a stream! A stream!? I ran over, hardly believing this could be real.
Suddenly from the undergrowth, a squeaky high pitched voice called out,
“Silly human!”
I jumped, and searched for the source of that voice. My eyes led me down to the soft brown earth. A gray, silky mouse!
“A mouse?” Recognizing the small creature from one of the many, many books I read an innumerable number of times.
“Mice can’t talk!” I exclaimed, remembering that this world, full of forest, lived in silence
“Silly silly silly human! Everything can speak, you just have to listen.”
Confused, I muttered a humble “oh”, at a loss for words.
“Come with me, silly. I’m going to show you how to listen,” and with that the little creature darted off through the trees. I scrambled quickly up and over logs, under branches, eager to follow, and to listen.
The mouse stopped suddenly and turned to make sure I was behind.
“Shhhhhh! Silly human. Be quiet now. Not a peep!” it squeaked urgently.
I was out of breath from the walk, but I tried to be silent.
“Now listen, silly, listen, listen, to the chatter of the forest. Listen to the trees whisper their secrets regrets to the wind. Listen to the flowers plead with the sunlight for strength. Empty your mind and listen…Shhhh. Can you hear?”
I strained, held my breath, expectant. Nothing. No words, no sentences came forth.
“NO!” exclaimed the mouse, “Not like that, silly. You have to be open. Don’t search for the sounds, let them come to you. Here, sit against this mossy stump and listen. Listen, you silly human.”
I sat, shifted till I was comfortable, closed my eyes and waited. This time patiently, not sure what I would hear, if anything. I was starting to think the mouse was the silly one, not me. But there was nothing better for me to do, so I waited.
It came slowly, slowly. Beautiful sounds came to my ears. I’d never heard anything like it. The wind whished over the treetops, creating a beautiful wooden melody, the birds chattered excitedly, changing pitch, tone, and note as quick as their wings flapped. As soon as this door was opened, the sounds rushed in like a flood of water. I listened intently to the little woodland animals scurry and scuff around, sorting through the ground, searching for food. I heard the mommy’s kindly shushing their babies in the nests and burrows. But I couldn’t hear the flowers’ plea. For some reason this settled a deep melancholy in my heart. Why could I hear them? Why did the flowers not speak?
Sensing my change in mood, the mouse perked up its ear and whispered excitedly.
“Time to go, silly. Now you’re listening.”
“Shhhh, shhhhh silly human, don’t spoil it!” the mouse exclaimed when I tried to tell it that I wasn’t doing it right. I couldn’t hear the flowers.
And with that the small creature skittered off into the woods again. I ran to keep up with its tiny, rapid steps. Deeper and deeper into the forest we ran, till the sun overhead was almost completely consumed by the tall tree branches. The air was moister here, thicker. An eerie silence descended on the area, broken only by my heavy footsteps on the mossy ground.
“SILLY! Oh you silly silly human, stop making so much noise. Learn to walk softly!” the mouse muttered angrily
“Slow down!” I panted.
“No need, silly, we’re here.” The mouse stopped and sat firmly on its haunches, turning its beady black eyes up at me with a questioning look.
I looked around. Nothing seemed too spectacular about this location. I don’t know why we couldn’t have stopped minutes ago, I mused with just a tinge of frustration.
“You’re just so silly, I can’t stand it,” the mouse exasperated, “Look!” it twitched its tail to the base of a nearby tree, and I saw it.
A small red cap with lots of white dots poked out of the thick growth. Resembling a mouse-sized umbrella, I looked up, confused, at the small patch of blue sky peeking through the trees.
“It’s not going to rain….” I stated matter-of-factly.
“Shhhh, silly. Listen again. Open your ears. Sit, silly human, and listen.”
So I walked over to the tree with the strange red umbrella and sat down. The handle of the umbrella was white and soft-looking. I sat down next to it, looking closely, even more confused. It didn’t seem like an umbrella, but what else could it possibly be? The question was too big to understand, so I forgot it, letting my mind lapse into silence.
Eventually I heard the trees and the birds and critters, in their daily conversation. Listening, I was soon lost in their worries and trials, caught up in the drama here. Suddenly a calm, cool, feminine voice rose above the din.
“You can’t hear the flowers?” She questioned. I searched furtively for the voice, but could not locate it.
“No,” I breathed sadly, “I can’t”
“The mouse calls you silly because you have no knowledge of your own self. If you knew the depths of your own mind, you could hear the flowers’ subtle song. You could bring that song back with you to the City. You could bring the Forest into the City, and free yourself, free everyone.”
I peered quizzically down at the small red umbrella thing.
“Is that you?” I asked, “What are you?”
The voice sighed, a beautiful, poignant sigh, “I’m a mushroom.” She stated, as if that should be obvious. “You obviously have never heard of us. We used to sing to the humans before All The Evil. We tried to teach them; to tell them that the City was too much, too big, that they wouldn’t survive the way they were. But they had become deaf. They could no longer hear the talk of the forest.” She sighed again, this time with an infinite sadness.
“But you’re here now,” she said after a long pause, “and that’s good. You heard the song of the forest, even from the depths of the dark City. You listened. Now maybe you’ll listen again.”
With that she began to sing. I couldn’t distinguish the words, but the sound was so penetrating, so stunning.
It conjured up images of sparkling snow-capped mountains, of green flowering meadows, gurgling creeks full of rainbow fish. I saw bears and wolves and elk and rabbits.
Then the scene changed. I saw smoke stacks and cars and concrete replace the beautiful meadows. I saw people angry and yelling, unhappy.
I saw leaders spitting angrily in a myriad of dialects and languages. I saw headlines and newscasters predicting death and destruction. It was a spiral of devastation that threatened all of humanity. Spinning faster and faster, darker and darker.
Just when I thought this scene would surely end in explosion, it stopped.
The exquisite song and the distressing images evaporated.
I was back, sitting on the soft moss, next to the mushroom.
A tear involuntarily leaked from my eyes.
“How could we have done this?” I asked the mushroom
She was silent for a long time.
She seemed reluctant to tell me, to explain.
“It’s hard to say why” she stated at last, “It’s hard to tell you, because you are the reason. It is from inside of you that this evil comes. Inside of you and all humans on this earth. A predisposition to self destruction. I wish I could tell you how to overcome your nature, how to make this all ok. How to survive. But all I can tell you right now is that if you don’t act right now, you will no longer survive. Your species will extinct themselves. “
“You must go now,” she told me, “you must return to the City, and save us. Please help us. You must find it in your intelligence to convince your fellow humans to stop.”
“I will!” I exclaimed, feeling the thrill of destiny behind my words.
With that I ran off, back over the wall, to help save the mushroom.
Friday, December 11, 2009
A long Short Story
The morning is stiff and cold. Waking up is difficult, as usual, but the sun peaking over the mountain tops helps. It’s as if she’s prying your mind out of the cold dead fingers of the night. Slowly, with the languid tendrils of alertness creeping up the bed and into my mind, I sit up, breathe so deep my lungs strain against my ribcage, and extend my arms above me and feel the blood flow down my arms and into my chest, bringing fresh life and vitality to my soul. I collapse suddenly into the fluffy sea of blankets surrounding me and turn my smiling face to the rising sun. I can feel the sunshine on my dry skin, warming up my soul, thawing my mind. The day has begun.
The soft, pungent vapors of freshly brewed mate waft delicately around the house. All begin to stir. Soon the house will be full of bustling excitement and clanging noises, but for now, silence still coats the dewy air like the patterned film of frost that has decided to doom the strawberries one final time. This silence is my sanity. In this moment I can find myself. I can keep my identity, my solace wrapped firmly around my intellect. I step outside with my gourd full of mate and sip slowly, delighting in the warmth trickling down my throat and awakening my belly. Staring out, my eyes seek no specifics, simply wandering, alighting on whatever they will. They encounter mountains. Stunning, majestic, daunting, these mountains encase my home. They protect it, shelter it, love it, and in return I love them. I gaze every morning, not once passing them by. If your mind is in the right setting, you can stare and feel eternity inside you, you can feel humanity and nature, you can feel the perfection of our imperfections. You can understand. But then material life jerks you back, and the dogs are barking, the goats…bleating, the people flit and flutter and chatter, reminding you of that human to human connection you so need. Meditation is over.
Sublime’s “Garden Grove” begins blasting in the garden, and we all gather that one communal room and pass a joint or two around the circle. Then, then the work begins. We revel in it. It is the work of our survival, of our souls. The various chores that must be done every day take most of the morning. Then we all break off into our own activities. It’s all highly coordinated and complex. Crystal and Nico dive into the shop to create some beautiful glasswork; Nico is making a replacement pipe for Quinn, who broke hers last week and Crystal is making a beautiful pendent inspired by the change of the seasons. We can all feel autumn in our bones. We can feel the cold seeping into our minds, freezing there till next spring. It’s about that time to make that cosmic connection. Indica and Jasmine, always the precognitive bunch, decide to take a trek up to the Basin and welcome in the new season. They’ll return in the evening with bags full of osha root and mushrooms. Others are gardening, working on the charts, seeing what should be harvested, what should be watered and weeded and tended. Some work in the greenhouse, sweating and laughing, having a good time. Another day on the farm.
I finish my morning chores in a smoky haze. Time moves slowly, but my hands move with a certain alacrity that comes only from much practice and passion. I retreat into my room for a tad to look at our finances and paint a little. Then I went and picked some lunch for everyone. Cous cous with stir-fried veggies and a huge green salad; the staple of my diet. Cleaned up, changed clothes, and ventured out into town.
The day progressed absurdly normally from then on. Nothing too exceptional except the exceptionally stunning series of moments that make up a day. But something was in the air. It was the shift to autumn to be sure, but there was something more. Something ethereal and sublime and subtle. It was a coming, a shiver on the horizon, present and tangible, but still removed. I don’t have to wait long until my intuition is answered, because my phone breaks my concentration with that penetrating beep that signifies someone, somewhere, is trying to flag down your attention.
The screen flashes open, and shoot’s me with an arrow-full of excitement by spewing forth the following words:
Found some dank boomies on our walk today. Are you down for some questage this afternoon? I’m getting that itch to expand my mind. Miles and Meghan are stoked on it. Let me know!
Right, ok, so it’s not the succinct translation that you may excpect to bleep up on my cell, but the significance needs some eloquence. Mushroom Festival has left us some prime psychadelics, and the inkling of winter is begging us to welcome in the falling leaves. The sun is shining like no other, though the rain this morning has left the air crisp, damp and pungent. My eyes scrape over the landscape and quickly look down to the fluorescent portal. My highly adept fingers pitter-patter away a sufficient response:
Time’s just right. Start the mental/physical preparation and we’ll be all ready in 3 hours? Meet at the house in 20.
Right, well the rest of the day needs no description. I get my shit together, converge with my crew, and march off into the woods to begin the extravaganza. Reveling in nature quickly puts me into a trance, and my mind leaves for a while to places I can’t even describe. When I come back, the scent of decomposing leaves drying in the Indian summer sun flows up my nostrils and the sunshine warms my eyelids.
I take a deep, satisfied breath and fall back on the green, soft grass. I lay there for a moment, taking life as it comes, watching it flow through me. From deep inside that stream a feeling begins to surface, a complete contentedness. Such an intense satisfaction with life slowly rises from the recesses of my soul and encompasses my entire being. It’s not threatening, nor too fast. Lying there I feel happy. But it’s not just any happy; it’s a happiness that seeps through your mind, that twinkles through your fingertips, that floods your voice and sparks your eyes. This happiness manifests itself in my eyes. It sits, like a cool, smooth weight, at the back of the expansive chasm of my sight. Maybe this big ball of bliss is filtering my reality, or maybe it’s slowly percolating into the world. My eyes, which have been closed, slide slowly open, and are greeted by the most lovely sight. The sky is that blue. You know the one I’m talking about. It’s the deepest most complex and stunning color. It’s that clear, clear blue that you might find alight on a high alpine lake, it’s that blue that only comes when the day has decided to be just too beautiful to understand. My head lolls sedately to each side, searching the vast horizon for a hint of imperfection, for a tiny inkling of the condensed air and water that taints our benevolent blue.
None can be found. I search a little harder; move my head with a tad more alacrity than is necessary and my face rolls smoothly over the flattened blades of grass, like a smooth marble statue pushed of its pedestal and into the commons surrounding it. The green of this grass is less excited than the blue of the sky, but it is nonetheless breathtaking and life-hanging all in one motion. One advantage that the grass has in this great game for my attention is that I can touch it. And I do; I reach my hand out slowly and run my quivering fingertips over the moist tendrils. Miniature explosions ignite as every one of my atoms clashes against the atoms of this grass. What is it that separates us? How can I not simply reach out my willing hand and become one with this tiny specimen of a different kind of life? What is that barrier? What is this barrier that creates interaction and prohibits fusion? Maybe these questions are not important, but they wander aimlessly through my mind anyways. Maybe it’s better to live and not question, to simply enjoy and marvel, not to ponder and explore. Maybe that would provide a more tangible life. Maybe that would induce more temporal pleasure. But I cannot place one over the other. I cannot place my desire for oneness above my need for collision with the ‘real world’ that I perceive. That is the balance, between spiritual, other-worldly, and physical, carnal and earthly. Find this balance in my soul. The pendulum may sway one way or the other from time to time, but it somehow remains still. It remains taught, perched precariously between the two sides of myself. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
My thoughts drift and drain away as my vision quietly factures, ruptures and convulses. Spears of white, rainbowed light burst from that absolute, pure blue. This light washes around me, pricks my mind, and flows through everything simultaneously. The prisms dance and twist and contort around the horizon and squiggle through the grass.
This spectacular performance keeps me continuosly captivated for a timeless eternity. Dancing and swirling, the lights show me the way of the world; they bless each notion inside my head with good karma and grace.
Suddenly I remember that it’s market day tomorrow. My separate, secret world evaporates right before my eyes, and reality comes floating down, much less aggressive, much less tiresome than before. I stretch every fiber of my being once more, then jump up, and head on my way. Walking down the gravel path, I feel a prickle slip up my spine, urging my neck to turn back. I oblige and my colorful, beautiful world fills me for the last time. A small, coy smile splits my face, I turn, and march off.
The soft, pungent vapors of freshly brewed mate waft delicately around the house. All begin to stir. Soon the house will be full of bustling excitement and clanging noises, but for now, silence still coats the dewy air like the patterned film of frost that has decided to doom the strawberries one final time. This silence is my sanity. In this moment I can find myself. I can keep my identity, my solace wrapped firmly around my intellect. I step outside with my gourd full of mate and sip slowly, delighting in the warmth trickling down my throat and awakening my belly. Staring out, my eyes seek no specifics, simply wandering, alighting on whatever they will. They encounter mountains. Stunning, majestic, daunting, these mountains encase my home. They protect it, shelter it, love it, and in return I love them. I gaze every morning, not once passing them by. If your mind is in the right setting, you can stare and feel eternity inside you, you can feel humanity and nature, you can feel the perfection of our imperfections. You can understand. But then material life jerks you back, and the dogs are barking, the goats…bleating, the people flit and flutter and chatter, reminding you of that human to human connection you so need. Meditation is over.
Sublime’s “Garden Grove” begins blasting in the garden, and we all gather that one communal room and pass a joint or two around the circle. Then, then the work begins. We revel in it. It is the work of our survival, of our souls. The various chores that must be done every day take most of the morning. Then we all break off into our own activities. It’s all highly coordinated and complex. Crystal and Nico dive into the shop to create some beautiful glasswork; Nico is making a replacement pipe for Quinn, who broke hers last week and Crystal is making a beautiful pendent inspired by the change of the seasons. We can all feel autumn in our bones. We can feel the cold seeping into our minds, freezing there till next spring. It’s about that time to make that cosmic connection. Indica and Jasmine, always the precognitive bunch, decide to take a trek up to the Basin and welcome in the new season. They’ll return in the evening with bags full of osha root and mushrooms. Others are gardening, working on the charts, seeing what should be harvested, what should be watered and weeded and tended. Some work in the greenhouse, sweating and laughing, having a good time. Another day on the farm.
I finish my morning chores in a smoky haze. Time moves slowly, but my hands move with a certain alacrity that comes only from much practice and passion. I retreat into my room for a tad to look at our finances and paint a little. Then I went and picked some lunch for everyone. Cous cous with stir-fried veggies and a huge green salad; the staple of my diet. Cleaned up, changed clothes, and ventured out into town.
The day progressed absurdly normally from then on. Nothing too exceptional except the exceptionally stunning series of moments that make up a day. But something was in the air. It was the shift to autumn to be sure, but there was something more. Something ethereal and sublime and subtle. It was a coming, a shiver on the horizon, present and tangible, but still removed. I don’t have to wait long until my intuition is answered, because my phone breaks my concentration with that penetrating beep that signifies someone, somewhere, is trying to flag down your attention.
The screen flashes open, and shoot’s me with an arrow-full of excitement by spewing forth the following words:
Found some dank boomies on our walk today. Are you down for some questage this afternoon? I’m getting that itch to expand my mind. Miles and Meghan are stoked on it. Let me know!
Right, ok, so it’s not the succinct translation that you may excpect to bleep up on my cell, but the significance needs some eloquence. Mushroom Festival has left us some prime psychadelics, and the inkling of winter is begging us to welcome in the falling leaves. The sun is shining like no other, though the rain this morning has left the air crisp, damp and pungent. My eyes scrape over the landscape and quickly look down to the fluorescent portal. My highly adept fingers pitter-patter away a sufficient response:
Time’s just right. Start the mental/physical preparation and we’ll be all ready in 3 hours? Meet at the house in 20.
Right, well the rest of the day needs no description. I get my shit together, converge with my crew, and march off into the woods to begin the extravaganza. Reveling in nature quickly puts me into a trance, and my mind leaves for a while to places I can’t even describe. When I come back, the scent of decomposing leaves drying in the Indian summer sun flows up my nostrils and the sunshine warms my eyelids.
I take a deep, satisfied breath and fall back on the green, soft grass. I lay there for a moment, taking life as it comes, watching it flow through me. From deep inside that stream a feeling begins to surface, a complete contentedness. Such an intense satisfaction with life slowly rises from the recesses of my soul and encompasses my entire being. It’s not threatening, nor too fast. Lying there I feel happy. But it’s not just any happy; it’s a happiness that seeps through your mind, that twinkles through your fingertips, that floods your voice and sparks your eyes. This happiness manifests itself in my eyes. It sits, like a cool, smooth weight, at the back of the expansive chasm of my sight. Maybe this big ball of bliss is filtering my reality, or maybe it’s slowly percolating into the world. My eyes, which have been closed, slide slowly open, and are greeted by the most lovely sight. The sky is that blue. You know the one I’m talking about. It’s the deepest most complex and stunning color. It’s that clear, clear blue that you might find alight on a high alpine lake, it’s that blue that only comes when the day has decided to be just too beautiful to understand. My head lolls sedately to each side, searching the vast horizon for a hint of imperfection, for a tiny inkling of the condensed air and water that taints our benevolent blue.
None can be found. I search a little harder; move my head with a tad more alacrity than is necessary and my face rolls smoothly over the flattened blades of grass, like a smooth marble statue pushed of its pedestal and into the commons surrounding it. The green of this grass is less excited than the blue of the sky, but it is nonetheless breathtaking and life-hanging all in one motion. One advantage that the grass has in this great game for my attention is that I can touch it. And I do; I reach my hand out slowly and run my quivering fingertips over the moist tendrils. Miniature explosions ignite as every one of my atoms clashes against the atoms of this grass. What is it that separates us? How can I not simply reach out my willing hand and become one with this tiny specimen of a different kind of life? What is that barrier? What is this barrier that creates interaction and prohibits fusion? Maybe these questions are not important, but they wander aimlessly through my mind anyways. Maybe it’s better to live and not question, to simply enjoy and marvel, not to ponder and explore. Maybe that would provide a more tangible life. Maybe that would induce more temporal pleasure. But I cannot place one over the other. I cannot place my desire for oneness above my need for collision with the ‘real world’ that I perceive. That is the balance, between spiritual, other-worldly, and physical, carnal and earthly. Find this balance in my soul. The pendulum may sway one way or the other from time to time, but it somehow remains still. It remains taught, perched precariously between the two sides of myself. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
My thoughts drift and drain away as my vision quietly factures, ruptures and convulses. Spears of white, rainbowed light burst from that absolute, pure blue. This light washes around me, pricks my mind, and flows through everything simultaneously. The prisms dance and twist and contort around the horizon and squiggle through the grass.
This spectacular performance keeps me continuosly captivated for a timeless eternity. Dancing and swirling, the lights show me the way of the world; they bless each notion inside my head with good karma and grace.
Suddenly I remember that it’s market day tomorrow. My separate, secret world evaporates right before my eyes, and reality comes floating down, much less aggressive, much less tiresome than before. I stretch every fiber of my being once more, then jump up, and head on my way. Walking down the gravel path, I feel a prickle slip up my spine, urging my neck to turn back. I oblige and my colorful, beautiful world fills me for the last time. A small, coy smile splits my face, I turn, and march off.
Some poems
Abstract Poem
Truth
Unfettered, clear, and present
Complex, yes; tragic, perhaps,
But not hidden, concealed, covered by base desires
Fear inhibits, shame prevents, greed shelters these revelations
But when exposed, the truth is light,
It is guidance and knowledge which propels us further
It allows frank acceptance of our current situation
No room for bullshit or deceit,
No mixed messages or confused sentiments
Simply truth
Pure, perfect
Useful
Ode to Jewelry
Sparkles and adornments
Gorgeous, intense, decorative
Impermanent tattoos that project the personality within
Shapes that have meaning, personalized memories and emotions
Manifested in twisted metal and jewels
Artist’s concepts, wearer’s flamboyance
Pieces to fit each mood, each outfit, each setting
To insert a soul into external appearance
Faces, spirals, twists, glass, metal, stone, colors
Flashing outward, exclaiming, “Beauty, depth, significance, lie within the wearer!”
Fun, funky, sentimental spirit
Twisted, carved, set free from earthly bindings
To open to the full beauty when Nature’s gracious gifts mix delightfully with creative, human expression
Silence, cool, encompassing, expansive
Darkness, utter and impenetrable
Sounds of the water lapping playfully at the boat’s edge
Blindly entering a new planet’s womb
Feeling the rocks weight pressing down
Occasionally butting up against their smooth edges, startling
Slowly pinprick appear above
Glowing, tiny, blue, effervescent dots everywhere
Like a foreign star-scape unfolding,
Causing a crick in the neck from the desire to observe
Craning, stretching, I’ve stepped into another reality
A silent metropolis of light
A preternatural concept of life
Completely peaceful, resolute
Poised and regal, noiseless and beautiful
A silent metropolis
Of bugs
The whole idea of it makes me feel
Angry and tangled inside
Like a clump of yarn that will not come undone
I’m falling, falling through time,
Like a never ending well
Trying to grab onto the vines that could save me,
Just when I’ve caught a hold, think I’m saved
The vine snaps, and down again I go,
You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
But as I’m falling I must see the light I left behind
The blue sky, there it is. I see it!
Can’t I just go back?
There I know I could survive, could thrive
I could love and learn and exist in harmony
I’m falling, trying not to think where I’m going
This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself
There is only more falling to come, more dark expanses of space
Here I am left to live forever, until a ground beneath me can swallow me
Here I am left only to ponder my adventures outside of this well
To remember and regret
It seems only yesterday I used to believe
I could exist in the permanent sunshine
I could forever postpone this chasm
I could grab on, and climb out
Back to peace, back to happiness
It began with the day, this adventure
Rising with the sun, bags packed, all ready to go
Climbing into the car, backpacks in the back
Sunscreen is smudged over faces
Clouds of bug-spray permeate the air
Up, up, up we go
Sweating and toiling and grunting our feet up
We reach the top
Stop, pause, appreciate
Then turn and march back down, down, down
Sunscreen melted off, bug-spray sweat left skin open to mosquitoes
Was it worth it?
Ask me in the morning
Truth
Unfettered, clear, and present
Complex, yes; tragic, perhaps,
But not hidden, concealed, covered by base desires
Fear inhibits, shame prevents, greed shelters these revelations
But when exposed, the truth is light,
It is guidance and knowledge which propels us further
It allows frank acceptance of our current situation
No room for bullshit or deceit,
No mixed messages or confused sentiments
Simply truth
Pure, perfect
Useful
Ode to Jewelry
Sparkles and adornments
Gorgeous, intense, decorative
Impermanent tattoos that project the personality within
Shapes that have meaning, personalized memories and emotions
Manifested in twisted metal and jewels
Artist’s concepts, wearer’s flamboyance
Pieces to fit each mood, each outfit, each setting
To insert a soul into external appearance
Faces, spirals, twists, glass, metal, stone, colors
Flashing outward, exclaiming, “Beauty, depth, significance, lie within the wearer!”
Fun, funky, sentimental spirit
Twisted, carved, set free from earthly bindings
To open to the full beauty when Nature’s gracious gifts mix delightfully with creative, human expression
Silence, cool, encompassing, expansive
Darkness, utter and impenetrable
Sounds of the water lapping playfully at the boat’s edge
Blindly entering a new planet’s womb
Feeling the rocks weight pressing down
Occasionally butting up against their smooth edges, startling
Slowly pinprick appear above
Glowing, tiny, blue, effervescent dots everywhere
Like a foreign star-scape unfolding,
Causing a crick in the neck from the desire to observe
Craning, stretching, I’ve stepped into another reality
A silent metropolis of light
A preternatural concept of life
Completely peaceful, resolute
Poised and regal, noiseless and beautiful
A silent metropolis
Of bugs
The whole idea of it makes me feel
Angry and tangled inside
Like a clump of yarn that will not come undone
I’m falling, falling through time,
Like a never ending well
Trying to grab onto the vines that could save me,
Just when I’ve caught a hold, think I’m saved
The vine snaps, and down again I go,
You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
But as I’m falling I must see the light I left behind
The blue sky, there it is. I see it!
Can’t I just go back?
There I know I could survive, could thrive
I could love and learn and exist in harmony
I’m falling, trying not to think where I’m going
This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself
There is only more falling to come, more dark expanses of space
Here I am left to live forever, until a ground beneath me can swallow me
Here I am left only to ponder my adventures outside of this well
To remember and regret
It seems only yesterday I used to believe
I could exist in the permanent sunshine
I could forever postpone this chasm
I could grab on, and climb out
Back to peace, back to happiness
It began with the day, this adventure
Rising with the sun, bags packed, all ready to go
Climbing into the car, backpacks in the back
Sunscreen is smudged over faces
Clouds of bug-spray permeate the air
Up, up, up we go
Sweating and toiling and grunting our feet up
We reach the top
Stop, pause, appreciate
Then turn and march back down, down, down
Sunscreen melted off, bug-spray sweat left skin open to mosquitoes
Was it worth it?
Ask me in the morning
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