Tag Archive: vision


Bi-Polar part two

Where it starts

Parents sat their infant on the land and smiled, Build a house. Milk dripped along the fattened grooves of baby’s cheeks. His first thought, the most important question of all: How? Parents shuffled backward and smiled, Build your house. They threw these thoughts back and forth; each time parents stepped away. Wind played with baby’s hair, swayed the grass, across fields freckled with apple trees, pine trees, elm trees—the trees hung, bent like truth; they hugged, danced with laughter near water.

Cardinals brought the infant berries with the sun. White wolves slept curled around him: warm undulating breath, comfortably dirty fur, protective with the moon. He asked the birds and wolves, How? They answered as the river did—with a blissful shh. Parents provided the river; it soothed his throat, cleaned his skin, urged him to listen. He learned fire from lightning, imagination from clouds, and found tools scattered across the fields, beneath unruly trees.

As wilderness grew through his mind, he grew strong, chopped and shaved trees, hauled them home, and built his walls. Why the boards tumbled, he couldn’t understand. The teenager never learned of foundations, pillars—only walls. He worked fast, so fast that he balanced a roof atop the walls before they could fall. But the roof failed to hold the wind, and spilt the walls.

Parents hid books and music instruments, stacked them against trees. The young man tried these for support, propped the books, hooked the saxophone, tied guitar strings in complicated knots around the boards. Wind brought it all down again. Every storm collapsed the roof, broke his body. But he found more gifts in the fields: engines, tires, pencils, paper; and he found more friends: ducks who taught him to dance, turtles who showed him patience.

No matter what, the roof cascaded when the wind shifted. Aches spread from the man’s body to his mind, a sickness of mood and focus that cycled in and out of his control and understanding. Covered in stripped, collapsed wood, the remains of ever-shifting wind, he still asks, How?

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When I Meditate…

White wolf swallows me

into black. Water plinks

in black. My bare knees

slide on mold. Light

bends the corner—a cave.

My cave. The light comforts

forward-slipping fingers

like music, thoughtful notes

balanced. Cave’s mouth

stalactites like teeth.

 

Out.

A stream, simple, quiet

and behind it every shade of green:

hills wild with grass, hush of pine

needles drug my sway in time

with theirs, resuscitated by the wind’s

soulful solar breath. Through high

reaching distant mountains I gather

clouds and massage from them

a warm rain. Cleansed and newborn.

 

Let us begin

White mist swirls

in black of mind.

Round chest swells

Breathe, swoop the nose

Wet air

circular breaths

Mist unwraps

Trees, branches embraced,

bark relaxed. Green blanket

sways with wind’s touch

Dance the art trees

teach. Leap

the light from leaf

to air and breathe

with animals—sweet on the lip’s

pulse. Solo tone, a round

howl, unwrapped

from misty trees and insect

jazz: white paw—

claws like centuries—draws

a circle in the dirt large enough

to step inside.

Secret Heritage

rain drops Lingered
on unkempt grass:
field of Wet Light,
half moon and bare feet
splattered reflected spots.

pajama legs Drenched
my feet burned. Sloshed
through the mud
top speed fear squashed
parents left asleep.

my eyes Steamed and Bounced,
I smelled destiny
like Honeysuckle

blur of dandelions, by a wall
of trees She waited,
dirty with wisdom; her white tail
beat the earth.

a wolf, my teacher:
her Massive paws matched
the Rapid movement of my Wet feet.
her fur smelled like abandoned
books Roots flattened
Tree limbs gave way.
trumpet calls of birds and frogs:
Staccato and Grand. chest ruptured
Ached with short breaths, Embraced
my monthly homecoming lesson.

the wolf and I Collapsed
on soft white dirt, a clearing,
her silver head on my lap,
my head on her back.
a black stream Hummed
calm tones by my toes.
night calls faded…

her fur
Thick with years, Tangled fates, Knotted truth.
her voice
slow and melodious, Sonorous Rumble.

her words:
I Leave you tonight.
my lessons Don’t end here.
carry this secret
heritage: birds and dogs,
your brothers; the wind,
your sister; all the world’s
waters will Forever whisper to you
my words. the woods
will Always welcome you.
Your soul lives Here.

moonlight Snaked
through reverent trees
and stirred dirt by the stream,
Thick and Blinding. I felt
Heavy as she ascended the twister,
a solid void.
she asked that I Chant
her Last Words and never forget.

these words are my Purpose.
I hear them still
in the Water.
clouds Burst that night.
I sang her words to the Vanishing
moon, Rain on my throat:

Observe and record.
Observe and record.