I have tasted the gods, they stain my tongue like red wine
Safe, deep in the forest you lay to rest
The dew soaked moss and twigs, scattered like fingerbones,
your spine torn out, bleached white and curved like a bow.
I searched but fail, couldn’t find your heart, trembling
against the opened cage of your ribs,
Stake your claim on mine, just as well as I can stake claim on the sky.
Hidden somewhere, your heart pumps
A deep sigh of relief. I come undone. Unraveled.
and with my new found nothing, I am free.
At times I have to look away;
the desperate seeking leaving mineralized corrosion on the borderlines of my/our observation.
& let go of the sanctification I/we were unjustly denied; accept that it must be left to wither; for us to SEE another day;
it must be let to die.
Savour the release; the lingering aftertaste of bitter-sweet remembrance.
Prune that which has expired deep inside; so it may nourish the newness waiting to bloom.
“I choose to know that this will never happen”
& let the flow take the thievery far away to where these things belong.
Plant the memories seed to feed your children’s children. The ones that may forget our name;
the ones that will clumsily fill the footsteps in the macadamized path we wearily conjured back in to creation; unabashed and nearly blind
but not quite.
I’ve/we’ve been holding on the the ghosts too long;
the assassination of the story weighing heavy hearted.
Gone they say; but never lost
The acknowledgement of their very existence among us;
swiftly breaking the spell of their alleged lostness.
and it is with a mystical anguish and harrowing beauty; we live on – that which is alive in us demanding a fierce dedication
to which would cause even the Old Ones to cower.
Guardians of all that is
Reject the so called essential antidote to being human;
Be ready; they say.
Enter your wildness;
Ponderings from Cortes within the Orphan Wisdom school .
Becoming is the most painful thing we will ever have to endure; aside from the consequence of the lack there of.
Robin Williams was a man I used to have deep elongated fantasies about as a child, I dreamed he was my Father; in nearly every character I saw him as I wished so hard that he (or the personification of him I had imagined) would look at me the way his characters looked at the children/family he loved.
The Birdcage, The Dead Poets society, Mrs Doubtfire, Good Will Hunting, Hook, Patch Adams. In all these movies within my child self stirred the desire to be lead, guided, loved, held safely, defended, understood and taught.
His kind crow footed eyes, cheeky smile and knowing grin never seised to give me hope; not that I would ever have that; but that I had the capacity to be that to others.
He was my ideal of strength; and now he is gone.
It hurts so much to exist, truly exist not just be. Sometimes it seems just so easy to give up, or makes attempts to do as such.