April Poem

I climbed up to where their eyes couldn’t see
A secret ledge on which to perch
Built into mud and over hung with rock
A cliff face to which I clung with care
One misstep and I’d be toast
But that did not deter me in the slightest
As I scrambled up the hill,
Building my muscles
with each push of my leg
and pull of my arm.
My abdomen activating
In support of my system.
I felt energized and exhausted
Confident and terrified
Thinking only of where
To put my foot next.
Thinking of the plan
Not the consequence.

And so here I sit,
With an eye on much of the forest below
The air is cooling get as the sky darkens
And winter chilled water drops slowly
Upon me from the river carved rock
There is so much sound around me
But it signals life and strength and courage
In the spite of all our ignorance and idiocy
Selfishness and greed.
The forest stands apart, even still,
Even after the atrocious rape we have
Committed and continue to commit.
Here I sit, apart and embraced from and by
Our odd world with its mysteries of
Meaning and or lack thereof.
Pondering and wondering and hoping and fearing. 

There are piles of scat all around me.
I think maybe a raccoon frequents here.
The raccoon has now appeared to me many times.
Along with the deer. And the red backed salamander. 
And I sit with the scat not wanting to leave.
For one, I fear that I may slip and fall to my death.
For another I fear I will have to go back to a regular dull life, unmagical existence enshrined within four walls with an agenda and a Neverending stream of tasks requiring the participation  in a society I wish to withdraw from.

Even here I am sure that the red jacket and blue jacket on the ground across the creek were watching my ascent and even Pondering how to do it themselves. Go away, I thought, annoyed that anyone should be privy to my adventurous (foolish) courage that led me to my vantage point.  But then there it is. Sometimes to go after what you want you must become vulnerable, exposed. Is it worth the risk? Are you more apt to slip? Clearly I perform well under the pressure.  But my real desire is to escape it all.

And so I return to my high volume quiet.
I dare not stay much longer as I start to feel the cold gnawing back into my bones and I know it will be still a climb to get out of here.
So I enjoy a few more moments of stillness
as I sit, an observer
Transparent eye in the forest
Withdraw from participation
And count the thoughts that bubble up
On a calm formless ocean
And disappear once more
Only an imprint left on a
Very subtle mind
Essentially forgotten
Until connection with the divine
Awakens your senses once more

This is the sublime. 

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As water falls

Moments like these
teetering on the edge,
nearest to death
we feel most alive.
So easy to slip makes
our grip that much tighter
when hours ago, I could see
no point in carrying on
a powerful awakening
of all senses through
nature grounds me to
the here and now.
If I could live like this forever
I would not know sorrow,
only joy and nostalgia for
the sublime.
This feeling pressing upon my
chest, sending chills down
my sweaty spine
lends me a euphoria
no drug can mimic.
Let me lay my head near
the running river so I
may rest, alive, in peace.

Relative Synecdoche

I am revealed in pieces,
chip away, mine me, deep sea dive me,
peer through the holes in curtains covering dusty windows
and perhaps you will see pieces of my tapestry
carefully woven throughout my life,
guided not by Three Fates, but my own hand
my own choices, deliberate and purposeful
even when scattered and careless
appearance and reality rarely run parallel paths

See this life, a conscious collection of action, thought, feeling
unconscious collaboration of infinite lifetimes
forgotten memories, shared histories erased by rebirth
compassion, kindness, love, learned patience through
trial and tribulation, rejoice to replace envy
and work to plant good seeds, nurturing
the growth of peace and joy

Oh beloved friend, I have opened my mind
so that I can learn all I’m able, absorb all I may
to in turn understand you with a knowledge
that comes from communion and connection
a closeness I feel in my breast and dissolve upon
a white heart of Philia and Agape, perhaps Pragma
and so many other loves born of curiosity and bred by passion

Yet when you look at me you stand in marvel
for I am still robed though you were undressed.
while I find that most are comforted in the revelation
that someone will not just understand, but uplift
and I delight in my talented comprehension of
the human condition, enjoying the like-minded energy
we may share, I walk invisible past the mirror
I wouldn’t look into, fearful of the narcissistic pull
having learned my lesson over a thousand existences,
drowning while loving only a reflection of myself.

The time for seeing with our eyes is over
(did it ever exist?)
A time for feeling with our hearts is within reach
(it always was)
exploration and curiosity is a must
(as is trust)
patience a virtue, not to be misplaced
(as pieces fast uncovered are just as fast erased)

I put my hand in your hand, fingers interlaced
I try to walk as fast, just to keep the pace
I try to uncover myself, reveal in harmony
a time lapsed story, a linear retrace
but it’s so hard for me to strip down to base
to keep things in order and memory trace
as things in my mind are cyclical, the Relativity staircase,
a spiral, repetitive journey, in love, lessons and grace

I thank you for your patience
I thank you for your time
I thank you for investment
of heart and soul and mind
As I watched the sun rise and watched the sun set,
I selfishly had wondered, what out of this world I get
Instead of pouring in everything I have
and letting my reflection shine back a most selfless mindset

Now that change has happened, and growth will still occur
I share these pieces of myself, and with love and trust refer
you to these stories, a tapestry of me
A puzzle missing pieces, a tale told out of turn,
mixed up metaphors and fragmented synecdoche
to in part reveal a whole, something for which to yearn
I won’t make you deep sea dive or without light explore the caves
I won’t let you drown in depths, nor alone survive the waves.

I am the guide through my own life, for those who sit and wait
for those who give and share with me
who ache to still explore
I am revealed in pieces, so listen carefully
a slivered wound, manifold whole,
messy, clean, and unmasked soul
torn and frayed tapestry, resewn at some seams
gleaming, shiny, sparkling bright
pure and unadulterated light
a woods with growth old and new
forest fires, just a few…

So I will tell my tale to those
who’ve fought and understand
with checked privilege, proof of patience
those who’ve taken stand
You have a story that I’ve heard,
and so I’ll give my word
I’ll sing unlike the caged bird
for I’m already free.
I’ll sing my song for those pure hearts
who lust to undo me.

Pronoun

No singularity defines her and she is bound by no laws.

She dances to the wind with the grasses and trees.

She is starlight and nothing physical or meta will bind her. She is not a chocolate to be unwrapped, a body to be undressed. She is sunshine and unspoken words. Nameless as a breath, but just as vital.

She is stormy, a fierce water wide and strong. She calls tempest or she calls calm.

She is purpose and purposeful.

She resides beside a hateful void of pitch and ire. She holds the key to Pandora’s box which was originally broke ope by Adam. She has condemned Adam.

She is judge, jury and life giver. Life bringer. She wields only arrows of Truth.

She plays and toys and laughs a tune. She takes it in stride. She calls Death to play the serious role and she chooses Life.

She is unearthly though of this earth. She is not the rose of June.

She is yearning. She is desire. She is in spite of man’s folly. She is in spite of disaster.

She is timeless and truth. Truth beauty.

Endless.

My Life as a Word

If my life is an ocean deep,
I cannot control the barrage of waves,
the frigid waters, nor the undertow
dragging me to the depths

If my life is a forest fire
I cannot control the wind fanning the flames,
save the woodland creatures fleeing in terror,
nor escape the scorching heat
threatening to turn me to ash

If my life is a vast, dry desert
I cannot command the rain to fall,
the drought to end, nor cast the sun from the sky
though it burns my skin

If my life is an afflicted plague
I cannot control its spread,
it’s path of destruction, or the numbers
it kills through perilous infection

If my life is a car without brakes
I cannot stop the fuel, slow the speed,
nor save all that lies in my path
though surely the wreckage is inevitable

If my life is me
All I have is me,
and what’s perhaps in my pocket –
not much, no ring of elven gold, but maybe
some chap stick and string –

All I control are these aching bones
attached to my withering limbs
and slackening skin

but also I command my language;
I have a ferocity with words
and often unleash them without thought,
they are my last defense.

I build a life raft of syllables uttered from these lips
I create a proverbial shield against the bombardment of fire
and run away on legs made from quick-witted phrases
I dig a hole with my spade of savvy repertoire, collecting
dew on a makeshift leaf of colloquium and self-talk
to filter tears of discourse to drinking water

I wear a murmuring mask articulating both the danger
and saving grace of infectious confabulation
I jump from moving vehicles with a parachute of parlance
and cushion my fall with doublespeak softness

There is redemption in language and controlling one’s own voice
There is power in joining your speech and your mind
to conquer villains of the world and of the imagination

If my life is a word
it is resilient. 

Not sans foye

As I sit on the banks of the river wide
I think, maybe this time, I won’t go home;
I see the birds and wish I could fly
To a place free of cares, free of sorrow
Free of knowing.

Sometimes there’s sorrow in knowledge;
Whoever said knowledge is power, may
Have hit on to something
For where there is power, there is often
Loneliness.  And when I know, I am sorrowful.

As Eve did eat of the Tree of Life,
So I have partaken of her meal.
And I do not know where my sin does end,
But I wish to drown it in the water
Dancing at my feet.

What cares does it have?  What does it feel?
Naught.  Though it holds so much,
And appears so wise, so bold, so strong,
Full of control – of life and death.
It is nothing.

I, on the other hand, often feel like
Nothing, even with my knowledge.
I feel like I should leave this place.
It feels unsafe to be alone when
There are so many sounds and voices –
In a band – drawing near.

I do not wish to be overtaken,
But I can feel this world
Pulling me deeper and deeper
Into its murky depths
Trying to make me unknowable, and not to know.

I dream of Fidessa, yet live like Duessa,
And though I may fool some,
The one who matters sees through
The foggy blanket I have knit
To hide myself from all.  And so I’ll fall.

But still, there is hope.  There is light.
Even as I sit in the darkness,
The moon and stars have not
Left me completely and they
Shine down on me.

Like some unseen hand, pulling me up
From this din and irksome mire,
I will be saved; I will not be buried alive;
I will not be burned in death.
I will be washed clean.

As I stare into the river, as I see where
My present meets my past and future,
As I see the mud settle and the water clear,
As it stands still and becomes a pond,
It’s not moving, nor drying up.

Something mystic happens,
And I can realize all is not lost.
I can’t save myself, nor can I others.
But I can know all is not lost if I am
Not Sans-Foye.  I know that I have faith.