The Great Escape – Part Twelve
Even this morning, after a full eight or nine hours of sleep, I have not overcome the miserable writing I produced yesterday. How could I have brought such suffering into the world. I know, I Know, “Relax, relax, they’re just words!” you say, “Look at all the political advertisements on the net! Listen to what married people say to one another when they get into a big row. Let it go! For Crisake don’t go into a funk over it. Just erase then if they bother you so much.”
“ERASE THEM!”, I answer, “ARE YOU KIDDING! THEY’RE BRILLLIANT! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!!”
Not really, of course, but one must defend his or her own misery. Misery is precious. We need our misery. We were meant to suffer. That’s what we were born for. Without suffering, life would be just one, long, boring, sappy affair. Suffering brings passion into our lives! Why do you think drama ia such a popular medium in television programing? Maybe my misery isn’t really brilliant, but it’s mine. Now I’m going to keep it and not even show it to you because you might rip it up or something! This is MY pity party and I’ll suffer if I want to!
But if you asked me nicely, respectfully, I would show you those pages, but, for now, I’m not going to post them on the internet. They’re private, nothing out of the ordinary mind you, just a lot of whinning about things I’m guilty of, kickin’ myself in the ass, regreting the suffering I’ve caused people I have loved and do love through neglect or worse. Karma I have created in my life that is now almost too painful to remember.
I suspect we all have that. Show me someone over the age of two who hasn’t done something they wish they hadn’t done. Life is like that. People don’t want to hear the details either. Maybe that’s why we have fiction. It’s safer from that distance. Not so real. We humans, collectively, have done some awful things.
Ever since Adam and Eve tasted that danged apple, the fruit of knowledge. Knowldge of good and evil. Duality, we have suffered for it.
Clive told me yesterday, “I go to the store and I buy an apple and then I put it in the refrigerator. And I will never taste that apple. It will never touch my lips. It will just sit there until it rots, and then I will throw it out! I shall remain on the path of righteousness!”
…..and this is from a guy that sometimes suffers from bouts of depression!
To Be Continued……
The Great Escape – Part Eleven
Of course, that’s what we are, a river, flowing through, along, the path of time. And that path, that course, that river bed is strewn with rocks, obstacles, all manner of things that can cause us to suffer or simply slow us down. We, you, me, they, all of it, all of existence is the flowing river. It’s all energy, because that’s we are, flowing energy. We are flow-ers, flowing, flow-er children. Around and around and around it goes, river to sea to cloud to raindrop to stream to river. Round and round we go.
The flow was so slow
that I wanted to know
just why I was feeling so down.
It hadn’t rained for days
and I was in kind of daze.
The heat will do that you know,
There had been a big drought
And we’d had quite a bout
of sluggishness, indolence and sloth
We drifted for days
in a somnombulent haze,
a murkey, lugubrious broth.
I looked down and thought,
well now, look at that rock.
That must be what’s causing the trouble.
If it was moved to the right,
or moved to the left,
our flow would almost be double.
It was only a little one
wedged ‘tween two big stones.
Surely not much of a hinderance.
For a river like us
to push us and toss,
to unplug such a tiny encumberance.
So we pushed and shoved
until finally it budged
just a hair, just slightly akimbo.
Well, the trickle increased,
it was better, at least
but it still, was it worth all the trouble?
So then we laid down,
sort of puddled around,
for our effort had been quite deteriorate.
It had increased our flow rate,
and we’d opened the floodgate,
but still we continued to stagnate.
But in our dilerium
we had failed to notice some
clouds that had gone beyond cirrus.
It started to pour
like never before.
The situation became quite delireous.
Our slough of despond
had become quite a pond,
and was growing with each drop that fell.
There was thunder and lightning,
It was all very enlightning,
as our edges continued to swell.
The crack ‘tween the rocks
that the pebble had blocked
had widened into a canyon.
We tumbled and rolled
and bubbled and roiled,
then shot through it, as if from a cannon.
The ride was so frightening
the crashing and shatterting
into billions of tiny small droplets
We soared and we plummeted
dove and spummated,
until finally, we became quite exhausted.
We rode to the sea,
the you and the me,
it was there that we all then engathered.
In the warmth of our bed
We giggled and said,
Have we ever been so enraptured?
The Great Escape – Part Ten
……..and then there was that time, it was in the spring I believe. You know how undependable memory is. How time changes everything. There were still patches of snow on the ground and the old mining and logging road was muddy in places.
It was still kind of cold, but seemed gloriously warm after what we were coming out of. Winter that is. The pipes had unfrozen. It was morning, I think, and correct me if I’m wrong, it was a sunny day. A beautiful sunny day. We were in the Siskiyou Mountains on Althouse Creek, walking. Just walking. That’s all, just walking. Not talking at all.
We didn’t have any idea what was going to happen next, all the changes we would be going through. Permanence was not something we had sought or thought about yet. We were still so very young. We didn’t know that a year later bulldozers would come and obliterate any trace of our existence there, or our tenuous, experimental family would tear asunder, divided from within, or that it would reform into smaller circles, because love never dies. It just sleeps sometimes.
But the old ghost mining town of Browntown, once called Tigertown, was still standing and very much alive. It had no electricity, but it was electrified.
Anyways, I remember we were walking up the windy road and it was such a beautiful day, full of newness and beginnings. We had just spent our first winter in the mountians and we were feeling good. We would soon be living the summer of our lives. Later we would discover that it was henseforth, from that point, that all our lives would flow. At least it was that way for me. You’d have to ask the others to be sure. It was for Chuck too. We’ve talked about it many times. Chuck called it a school, and we learned more about life in that one year than all our years in public school. It felt like a lifetime.
We were walking, just walking, neither slow nor fast, up to where the bridge crossed the creek, up through the dark, wet, dripping fir and pine and madrone and oak trees. I don’t know who I was walking with but it was someone.. Funny that that fact, not knowing, doesn’t discomfort me at all, that it actually echos our state of mind at the time because we were so OPEN. We didn’t know anything then either. We were all so full of possibilies, and we were oblivious to any kind of suffering or loss.
We just stopped there and looked down into that springtime, roiling, tumult of rushing water. I can still feel water spray on my face and hear the thunder of it echoing in my ears, and I just stood there looking into it. Just looking into it. IN TO IT! I felt so incredibly high and I wasn’t stoned, not stoned at all. It was so beautiful. So wonderous. So so awsome, I felt as if I had stepped into some alternate universe, but it was still this one all right. It was just this amazing, totally unexplicable thing!
I don’t remember walking back or even if we did walk back. Maybe we just floated through the air, and then I was up in my funky little attic room above the double barrel woodstove, cozy and warm again and I wrote this poem. I’m sorry if it doesn’t quite catch it, that experience, but it is what it is, and here it is, resurected after all thse years:
Snow that cannot say they,
water that cannot say we
as changes come,
Come down to the river,
come down too!
It’s going so fast,
no one can see where it’s going.
“He’s trying to damn it up,
but it still flows.”
The big stones never move,
could never confine a river,
it just flows through, around,
To be continued………..
Wings Beating Across The Sky
The garden was watered this morning,
The body hydrated and fed.
There is no particular reason for this,
It has just become so.
The sun has crested the trees on the hillside.
Warmth spreads across the ground.
Long ago it was night,
And wings were beating across the sky.
There was no particular reason for this,
It was nothing but a kiss.
A heart was beating in that dream
And that heart is beating still.
There is no particular reason for this
It has just become so.
In The Light Of My Being
Insects, the most beautiful butterflies,
particles of dust and ash and pollen,
the exhaust of machines and vehicles,
swimming in sunlight
and reflecting all that energy,
all that exuberance,
the pulse of creation
beating in each feather and wing
and leaf and fibril and molecule,
so beautiful, so beautiful,
dancing, dancing with me
in so much joy,
in the air of my breath,
in the sight of my eyes,
in the beat of my heart,
in the light of my being.
Those First Words
Those innocent and discontent words that precede all discovery,
All learning, exploration, experimentation and invention,
Yet serve as caution and warning to stand alert
To all those venturing into unexplored territories,
Those words that sang on the lips of every hero and heroine
That’s gone before, that goes forth now or will go tomorrow,
Those words that have launched thousands of ships bearing.
The seekers of truth and God and love and understanding,
Those words of admission,
Those words of despair,
Those words that invoke shame and blame,
The mark of stupidity and ignorance,
Those words without guile, without deceit or pretention,
Those words that are the answer unasked for,
Those most honest words of humility,
The words of the meek,
Those words that precede all others,
That open the doors of eyes and ears, hearts and minds
to the sacred, the divine, to love,
The most precious, most feared words of all,
That we must return to again and again,
“I don’t know”.