The Waiting

The day hung dead weight, pressing itself into the earth. Each moment pulling a greater thickness to itself, subduing all to breathless dark. Suddenly, the sky breathes into itself and blows across the land with the force of a day held. A breaking new oppression not broken yet. The sun set green in a blood black thickness. Electricity riding on skin and trembling leaves.

The drops are tentative at first, then suddenly releasing the torrents from the sky. It was impossible to see through the windshield even with the wipers at full speed, so we pulled to the curb and sat with the rhythm of engine idling. A glance shared, a spark lit. The doors were open in a moment and we were barefoot in the grass and the deluge. Lightning exclamation points to the dance of our feet as we fought the chill threatening this still unsure spring night. Eyes kissing, laughter drowning the thunder.

"Mist breathing a newness of horror. Its first sighs swore beauty. A voluptuousness of silk and feather touched blue by a fading moon. The bird stretched the length of its neck, emitting the silent call of dreams. One gentle whisper to the cacophony of terror. With terrible precision, the creature suddenly sliced its throat with the edge of its beak, releasing a cascade of blood. I opened my eyes, gasping to the night...
In the shadows, the bird’s offspring drink, unknowing of the mother’s sacrifice. Instinct bringing a nightsong to their mouths as the life beats quicker in their veins. Even as her life flutters from her breast, the pain in her eyes is submerged in deep calm. That they should live."

Excerpt from "Green"

It was impossible to concentrate. The priest's Tennessee drawl pulling each syllable like taffy. Three stair step brothers pulsing with uncontainable energy in the pew in front of me. My tummy rumbling loud protests at my neglect of it all day. Even with this being the time of the year that holds everything for me, I found myself disaffected and cold. Finally the priest found the end of his homily, seeming himself relieved to escape from the sound of his voice. Even as the ritual of footwashing began, there was nothing in me that compelled participation. Intention silent when it should be most active. But I watched. One elderly couple got up in front of me to wash each other's feet; the woman clutching her husband's shoulder to steady her weak hobble. Upon finishing, they returned to their seats with an unmistakable glow in their faces. Just to touch each other's feet in this symbol of sacrifice and service. Before sitting down, this couple that has obviously grown old together compulsively turned to each other and kissed. Before us all. I felt a whispery touch on my shoulder then and looked up to find the smiling eyes of an older woman that has always shown me kindness in this place. Gently, she reached for my hand, silently asking me to let her do this for me. With care usually reserved for priceless fragiles, she lowered my feet into the warm water. Trickling handfulls. I watched her face and saw her lips mouthing blessings on me and my existence, though she knows little more than my face. Grace streaming from her eyes displacing the white mist enshrouding my consciousness.

Planes converging
Melting
Reforming
Essence rediscovered
Redefined

Power inherent
Not given
Coherency found
Within the mosaic
Fragments
Defining beauty

I found myself, in what is becoming a weekly occurence, searching for solitude. Back country roads leading to cool night air. It was all I could do to keep myself from driving on until even I could not find myself. The road blurred as tears streamed down my face, and I could not explain why I was crying. The tears just came. Thoughts of possible lives too numerous to understand and not knowing which should be mine. Just then, I saw the turnoff to the overlook; the sun setting behind me. The grief had me fully in its clutches by the time I got out of my car and sat on the cold stone bench. Journal out and scratching furiously of the unfairness of it all. Finding home just as I must leave. And to where must I go? Finally, the sun was completely gone and I could write no more. But I did not feel free to leave yet. As I waited for what I did not know, I saw a bloody light pooling on the far horizon. Slowly nudging her full face above the trees, the moon held me in her grasp. Demanding stillness when all I sought was a fight. Caught in her hypnotic stare, my rage melted into a pleading of this distant sphere. What must I do? Who must I be? Returning not the answer I desired but an enigma: to experience Beauty to the fullness of my being. To allow myself to be transformed at its hands regardless of the pain or confusion. And so I have returned here and can only pray that I will have the courage to do so.

Last night, I discovered a long-lost, long-forgotten journal I had written when I was thirteen. My name printed in huge block letters on the front with an equally forbidding statement saying "JOURNAL. KEEP OUT!" Vaguely, I could remember how serious I was then, how desperate to get my feelings out. The drama of feeling the world was going to end...because no "mentally capable or attractive (optional)" guy liked me. All that is left in the words for me is comedy; almost reading them as someone else's memories. Someone else's life. A decade removing me from those moments that once felt as if they filled the entire world. It does demand the question of when will my current importances seem only the jokes of my past? The limits of perspective in time.

"A couple months and a sea away, I sat on a star-washed dock guarded by the hills of the Lake District. With disturbing simultaneity, moments of my recent past layered upon themselves to the thickness of night. A couch, crimson candle, dying firelight, and his last touch. New-harvested fields of corn bathed in moonlight, his face resting against me and etched upon the sky. Two in the morning and writing letters to my few lost loved ones of my death. All these things suddenly conflating to a great stillness in this new place. Love claiming every moment as its own, ashes gathered as gold threads. The night enveloped me as pain and hope found each other equal in the perfection of this moment.
At the culmination of all existence, only black quiet remains. Every moment held in breathless anticipation of what must come."

excerpt from "Black"

To smell the sea was to love it forever. The grass brushed across my bare legs as I sat on the cliffside trying to count the colors of the ocean. An ever shifting depth creating kaleidescopes with the dance of sun and cloud. My soul stood still as the mammalic voice of the sea captured my senses. Crash of water on rock caught by the wind blowing through the grass and across my face. I felt myself disappear into the endlessness of its speech, telling beauty and magic. Slowly, its song took shape in me, altering my essence. Allowing the rays to awake the spark in my depths.

A kiss as good as screaming
Agony in passions' thick embrace
Commited the felony of needing
Forfeited adequate solitary
Would do it again, again, again
Just love, touch, stay, hold.
Let us be here. Now.


-Fall 2001-