Life has many tests. This is one of them!
Too young to explain, just right to know. So after opening my eyes and finding you among the swirl of fragrance ‘n skintouch—–two things stand out; it was that look, more than a founding document, the reflection in your eyes that cemented our future. Anyway, I just now tie the clinical parsing of our culture in a little pouch and drop it in the bin. I knew naturally, when your tears gently rained, that it meant home—and when your breath reached me, forming a circle, that meant love. Mom, after all these years, I just want to smooth and soften the blankets of your moment, whistling at the door before knock, knock…….”breakfast”.
I was a young lad once, eyes full of stars and mind full of dreams and I was making a name for myself as an allergic misfit. Though limping, I was cut out to handle the main event and as crazy as it sounds, there were prophetic indications. I had some little gift as a poet and I was pressing flowers between two kinds of words; one which said what it said and one in code-speak, attempting to aggress the establishment! I was in fact saying all the right things, but my time had not come! I connected the dots to form a key shape and brought it proudly to the temple, but still had bills to pay. I cried out for an answer, straining to gear up, but the flesh was so heavy. I could sing and dance like a fool, but natural law still spurned my resume. I was imbalanced and couldn’t be trusted to carry the scrolls though I gave the illusion of. I was called but it takes more than that. I avoided looking at my palm, & wouldn’t open it to others. I would not look at the stars, I was adverse to relics, I refused to dial, look upon or use infected numbers. I detested perverse lookbacks from mirrors, and would get nervous every time I approached one. This is the smallest of splinters long lodged under the skin of my conscience. I was a young lad once, eyes full of stars and mind full of dreams.
Preening in the sun, the fly would move his powerful mouth parts with stop action speed—- grotesquely magnified! Realizing that because of this, the dead mouse below the fridge and others like him, will not stink by tomorrow or so, I nod, “ugh hugh, that works.” Now the Giant Japanese stag beetles need no excuses for laudation either; immanently righteous… Other creatures, variously outfitted, with not one self conscious corruption, are thrilling, totally believable, and like snowflakes, their every second is unique. The blade of grass too, in young soft blasts, whittles its statement, scrubbing commies on all sides and their pointed heads too. Then, far below the canopy of giant oaks, and up through the composting leaves, along with compelling drumroll; tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt, Grain of Sand!, having received a calligraphy and seal of perfection, “Perfection?” scoffs humanist dimbulb, “duh” quoth original mind, “duh”.
In the crawdad hole is a crawdad, ok?
So if you’re clear on homestead, whatever your gaze lights upon, is known.
Then why is it, in a world where a drop of water can power up the metro,
can’t a guy in the puddle break out of 1%?
Ladies and gents, I’m going to save you some time, the facts will bear me out,
1. what doesn’t ring true and make perfect sense, isn’t, OK?
what doesn’t ring true and make perfect sense, isn’t.
2. if you’re comfy and safe, forget it.
In the din of conflicting millennialists clashing in the brazen light,
congregants appear to have been drugged and onlookers can only wince.
The exodus is subtle as few give away their inner strife,
even while they secretly do the math— until one day,
without warning, they just jump ship.
That’s how it’s done. No discussion, no disclosure, no overt signs.
It’s too volatile to handle, too risky………..there’s certainly no one to trust,
and in the next moment a crowd shredding blast— I’m out of here!
So many stories being told, so many pretending to dream,
and with all those diversions, who’s going to glimpse a grain of sand
and bring back the diagram?
The answer’s out there but you wouldn’t believe me.
At one point however, I was in the hunt, as I could still see a glimmer of the garden,
but without controls over internal dialogue, it all just flew apart,
but I couldn’t hold a meaningful conversation with that concept either!
The word is contradiction, and I was it’s shiny hubcap,
as farcical as an alien spacecraft
and I must have looked like someone who needed a drink,
until that New Years dance where I got punched
and the Indian out front stirring camp coffee in a 50 gallon drum told me,
“son, with the new dawn, you’re free to go”,
so I quit drinking, and after whittling my bad habits down by one or two of ‘legion’,
I could almost see through the bars.
Now your bones don’t lie, but they only reveal averages
and my bones were telling me that I wasn’t all there;
not that I was a phantom, but that my image hadn’t consolidated.
This then was my plight, and I’m telling you people,
no one stands on the hill with a clouded conscience.
Zoom in on the paisley,
zoom the precious stones which abandoned me
and the light day which simply could not see me.
I was the would be man of power whose rings had largely slipped off the spool.
I was the reason that Diogenes may have thought,
“even my lantern won’t illuminate what isn’t there.”
Such men are still out there, behind the scenes,
they fly to work, they focus thought, they compress intent;
they change the course of things.
His name is Bernie and his gig is pinball, not the arcade game, no, his game is head feint and slide, and I guess as long as the lights flash and honk that you might not notice what a knucklehead he is. In a nutshell, I’ll let you in on it, cuz you see, he’s just not mortifying his flesh enough to get momentum out of the paper bag. That’s why he amps the glitter and prisses ‘round. There are seasons and aspects to the moment and daily cycle and his stars were pressing for a change. Like it or not and he didn’t and like some people, many in fact that sense a conspiracy holding them back, he never lacked a rationale for failure. Still his pantomime was notable, like an egret in the shallows moving with deliberate steps, prefigured by chi, hugely on task for lunch or any chance to photo op. Another issue was girls, and whenever a wiggle approached, his inner light would grow dim by the glow of her flesh and though he also sensed the waves, I believe St. Theresa felt, he could hardly help himself, snared by invisible mobs and the echoes of old haunts. So the battle rages, but ultimately, using the atomic model, relativity is so not there! Seems that strongest webs are the most invisible. I don’t know how much longer my signal will remain on the air, but I can tell you that the original sky, scrawled over by court painters, was recently witnessed while looking out a window, sashed with many stars, while listening to the crickets in the off-crick, emergent through a crack in the black ceiling for but a second, long enough to reveal the long hypothesized sun, whose burst of light shown down for a brief moment, just one frame, imprinting an after image, now deemed a relic which I carried in my left shirt pocket and revealed to no one. Then I met my Parents and all the above made immediate sense, was filed away for future reference, and I left the dream world and got a real job as your friend.
It’s no miracle that tears of myrrh flow,
but existence, incomparable existence is so much more,
that once in part fathomed, everything else is easy.
And it’s no miracle that silken mists mauve the valley…………..
but life is————-life.
Even so called simple life forms,
where multitudes of angels hover in a drop of pond water….
so far beyond questions and contention about miracles? healings? sightings?
inexplicable appearances of sacred images?
So if anyone lives and breathes, they believe.
Reach down far enough beneath the ruins of the fall,
and you will grasp the upreaching hand
of an original and beautiful child, still alive.
Woke up this morning?
In sound mind?
You’re in.
All roads lead to Megiddo, the only question is how conflgrated does it get before we’re there? Corollary second: all the bishops in the inferno left blank question 3; “how did evil come to exist? Well?” Also queries 1 and 2; What was His purpose in creating and How can an omniscient and all loving God allow evil? As they sat in the examination hall, all the stress-pounds of fear and contradiction that torque the stiff-necked faithful as much as anyone, who, if dropped, would shatter across the marble floor, seemed a predictable part of a bad dream. Hmmmm; at a loss to answer 1, 2 or 3. Break it down further, and it’s plain that a man whose instruments are smashed can’t read them. And from space, looking down on the dissolute household, it’s just a mess. However you parse it, a people under the signet ring of greed will fare no better than monkeys when asked for references, and when cornered, can be dangerous. There are many levels, as in the rubble which fill the bosom, similar to the rings of a giant declining tree, wherein the specific year and aspect of the invasive agent are mapped. A wooden duck may know which end is up, but the lord of creation can’t tell you. There is only one comfort, and that is that an answer exists and even a bad one is far better than none. Every man for himself, in his own cell where the mirror resembles an inkblot or an unfinished portrait, ponders tomorrow and reviles the day….. They don’t call this hard time, but simply life, though anyone who can see through the world knows it’s hard.
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