The moon dangles
from a velvet ribbon of a cloud and I would hang it around your neck if I could and scatter stars across your brow the violet sky I would drape around your shoulders and pour you a drink from the milky way I would set the earth before you so you could sit upon the mountains and rest your precious feet in a tropical turquoise sea. Your smile
bends like time making time stop and my heart falter curving gently like a road that I will travel over and over again. Gray clouds at dawn
no hint of sunlight but rain-fresh the morning greets me and I begin again. I hear a windchime.
The sky is black and endless, cars and trees, bushes and tomcats are all shadows - two-dimensional. I am alone here; dissolving into shadow indistinguishable until I see the light of a white hot star eons ago fall to earth like snow. I life my hands to catch it - illuminating clearly all that ever was, is, or will be, is in me. Blue and blue
blue fading into blue hazy granite transparent rock blue, blue then blue again - enveloped in mist dreamily dense solidly sheer resolute but swayed by a faithful whisper. ARCANUM (a deep, secret mystery; a secret remedy, elixir) Nothing is ever as it appears on the surface, nothing is simple, nothing is straightforward. Every object contains an unseen element. Every word has a hidden meaning, every thought is based upon a thousand other thoughts that span out in our minds like the roots of an ancient willow tree. A flower, an ordinary daisy, is a labyrinth of puzzles and discoveries - sepal to petal, stamen to anther, with its hidden reserve of powdery pollen. Pistils, ripe and waiting, send out secret messages to insects and birds, to allure and invite. Eggs are the exemplary secret keepers - hard, cold, and impervious, they are perfect incubators for cells and tissue and blood, vessels of alchemy that produce baby robins and hummingbirds. I am the greatest mystery of all, my own body, my own brain, the hidden places within me, the darkness, the caverns and underground springs that propel me along. My body seems to act and react with no regard for me, with treacheries and desires I cannot begin to understand. BENEDICTION (a blessing; an invocation of divine blessing) I huddle in the womb of an overstuffed chair, alone in the dark, alone in the quiet. Questions pour from my throat, questions raw and searing as acid. I am not settled, I am not happy, I am not content. Is the world turning, as they say, around and around, in the way that it should? Is God in his heaven? And my own place here, am I who I am supposed to be, or has an imposter, a ghost, hollowed out my body and crawled inside? I hear my heart beat in the silence - or is it your heart that I hear pounding steadily in my ears? Is it your blood that courses through me, a river of heat and mystery? Is it your pulse, your breath, your life that lifts me out of this womb and into the light? You are with me, invoked by my fatuous whispers, rising out of the whirlwind of doubt and despair, you come to me. You revive me, with your wind and your fire. And the first streak of dawn, pure gold that dusts the room with hope, settles across my face and hands. COMESTIBLE (edible) I gather willingly with friends around a table, to share in the ritual of consumption. I eat and drink, I laugh and argue and confide, and I allow myself to be devoured with the potatoes and turkey and pie. I pass my heart along with the bread, I offer my spirit with the salt and pepper. To eat something is to allow it to become part of you. To share food, to eat together, is a way to allow other people to become a part of who I am. Like that last evening, when men shared bread and wine, body and blood, they were consuming everything that Jesus had been and would be. He didn't want to simply inspire, he wanted to be known, to be tasted, to be savored, to be nourishment and sustenance. He wanted to be so much a part of who they were that no lines could be found to separate one from the other. I have that same desire - to be part of the people I love, to enter them, to nourish them, to save them. DAEDAL (skillfully made; ingenious; highly wrought; intricate) You are himitsu-bako, a box of secrets, saved by hidden levers and buttons from exposing what you have carefully tucked away. If I could figure out your secrets, what would I find in the tiny chambers and private compartments? What is concealed in the darkness, away from prying eyes and ears? Would I find, carefully concealed in places where no one can take them away; a lock of hair, a worn photograph, a crumpled letter? A single, salty tear? Dried bones, dust and ashes, broken glass? Or would the chambers be empty, filled with only darkness? I want to know your secrets, I want to discover the hidden lever that will admit me, but I am afraid. If I found my way inside, would I ever find my way out? Or would I be lost, captured in a labyrinth of mysteries and desires that would coil around and choke the breath from me? Would the beauty and the terror ever let me go? ESTUARY (an inlet or arm of the sea; where salty tide meets freshwater current) Everything I have ever seen, or heard, or experienced, is stranded on the banks of who I am. Tangled seaweed, smooth driftwood, broken shells and briny foam. Every fiery word of passion, every angry retort, every hurtful insult, every soft encouragement. And while I can no longer see the face of my grandmother, I can no longer hear my father's voice, I am still the sum total of it all. I am each friendly smile and painful rebuff, wishful daydream and night terror, warm campfires, tears on my pillow, dirty books and sleepless nights; every song and poem and prayer. In this rich and fertile place where all parts of me converge, my past is captured and alive and I am stuck among the nesting birds and swaying reeds, afraid to drift out to sea. FRISSON (a shudder or shiver, as of excitement, fear or pleasure) I like the way I feel when I let go; that anticipation of unknowing, the pure and savage joy of being totally out of control. of not caring what lies beyond the curtain. I love the shudder of uncertainty, I love the terrible pleasure of complete surrender. GLOAMING (period between sunset and full night, dusk) Emily Dickinson finds the "certain slant of light" oppressive but I embrace it; that soft glow that plays along the tips of branches and tops of trees as the sun begins to sink in the west. There is a quiet that accompanies it; the silence of rest, the placid reminder that dusk comes for us all. Dusk, and then the sweet night. HUBRIS (wanton insolence or arrogance, resulting from excessive pride or passion) Here I am, asking to be crucified for you, begging for the opportunity to hang above your head in self-righteous misery and say "See what I have done for you? I have suffered for you." But you don't need a savior, you don't need me, you don't need my thoughts, you don't need my hopes, or my dreams, or my tears. You don't need me opening windows or closing doors, you don't need me washing your jeans or making you pancakes. Where do I get the idea that you won't survive without me? You want nothing more than to walk alone, guided by your own desires, following your own North Star. You could crush me with two fingers, still I bend my back to take your world on my shoulders. ICHOR (the ethereal fluid flowing through the veins of the gods) I can feel it sometimes, despite myself, the white hot liquid coursing through my veins. They swell to bursting with the pure heat of it. Molten gold pours down my throat, a fountain from Olympus, and I explode with the effort of being a god. JUNKET (a feast or picnic; a pleasure trip) Do you remember the lazy summer morning when we packed a basket with what we could find in the house? A baguette, string cheese, a few questionable strawberries and a bottle of cheap wine. We didn't even know where we were going, somewhere green and bright and hopeful where we could sit on a worn blanket and remember and forget. I wore a muslin shirt from Mexico, embroidered with brilliant vines and birds. I felt exotic in that shirt, wonderful and reckless when I wore it. We climbed a ridge covered with morning glories, glorious morning, growing wildly, covering posts and signs. On one side of the ridge was the city, with its houses and dogs and cars - on the other side was nothing but grass and blue sky and a curious path that led off into some woods. But we weren't curious, we were only interested in each other, alone on that ridge, sharing the sun with the tiger lilies, and drinking that awful wine. KINETIC (of or relating to the motion of material bodies) I have always been clumsy, never really at home in my own body, aware that it could betray me at any time. I trip and stumble and stub my way through my days, a bruise or a scrape bearing witness to my perpetual battle with gravity and balance. But there are rare moments when I seem all spirit, wide and pure and nebulous as a cloud, certain that my feet only touch the ground because I am wearing shoes. LIMINEL (of or at the threshold; at a point where one perception or condition blends or crosses over into another) I was walking to the library one afternoon, and you passed me on your bicycle. Your face was flushed with exertion, your tee shirt was stuck to your back. I watched you fly by, oblivious to everything around you, and I was overwhelmed by the sudden conviction that I loved you. We were friends - I liked the way you talked, the insolent tone in your voice when I disagreed with you, the sudden snort of laughter when you knew you'd been bested. I liked your strong opinions, your battered paperbacks and relentless pursuit of the truth. I recalled the first time I saw you, sprawled on the floor, your shaggy head resting against the paneled wall. Your expression was surly and your eyes were bloodshot. I wondered who you were and what in the world you were doing there. When you stood up to call the meeting to order I almost laughed out loud - funny how those first impression are so deceptive. Funny how people transform right before your eyes - from some person barely acknowledged, to a face you remember, to an individual you tolerate, to a friend you care about, to a love you would die for. Same mind, same body, same eyes, but not the same at all. You hadn't changed, but you had, or I had changed, something changed that day. MUNFICIENT (very generous in giving; lavish) My hands are full, my arms are full, my soul is full of your lavish gifts. There is no bank vault big enough to contain all that I receive at your hands, there is no place to lock it away, because it spills over the edges of the universe. I bank on a full moon on a crisp October night, I spend the inexhaustible field of stars. I am wealthy with the feel of new spring grass under my bare feet. I am rich with purple pansies. I am replete with warm white sand and an endless horizon. You give, you give, you give, until I am ashamed at your giving. NUMEN (an indwelling; guiding force or spirit) Birds fall silent at dusk, and a holy stillness fills the trees. I walk into the gathering darkness, my feet light, my footsteps reverent. I like the way the cold autumn air bites at me, causing the blood to rush to my face and hands. My feet are warm, and my wool jacket is buttoned securely, but the chill isn't deterred, it teases me, it tells me not to forget that I am alive. The spirit of the evening, the spirit that gathers the colors in harmony around the waning sun, the spirit that calls forth the song of the moon and the chorus of stars is all around me. I sense it in my breath, in the pure air that fills my lungs. I am alone, but I have never been less alone - in this hour, in this moment I need nothing, I need no one. A sudden breeze whips through the trees and takes my breath away. I turn towards the setting sun, and I feel part of something beyond symbol, beyond definition. I whisper a heartfelt prayer as I turn towards home. OSSUARY (a container, as an urn, vault, etc., for the bones of the dead) At first glance, you'd never believe it. My mask of serenity, of smiles and laughter is expertly executed. But if you listen carefully, you can hear my bones rattle inside me when I walk. PAEAN (a song of joy, triumph, praise) The tiny screech that escapes from my cat when she stretches. Blue jays squawking over the biggest peanut. Autumn leaves crackling as I tramp through the pile. A child screaming with delight as the swing goes higher and higher. Bach's Concerto for Harpsicord in F Minor, 2nd Movement, and Billie Holiday's meandering blues. The explosion of fireworks bursting in a dark July sky. The sizzle of hamburgers on a charcoal grill. The gurgle of the coffee pot. The shiver a breeze creates in the trees. The low buzz of bees as they bounce around the coneflowers. The rustle of thick pages in a quiet alcove. The click of a typewriter pursuing a great idea. The deep hush of the first snowfall. My name spoken in a whisper. The beat of my own heart as I lie in the grass and wonder. QUAY (a wharf, usually of stone or cement, used for loading and unloading ships) I wait here, searching the horizon. I wait, with the gulls circling over me, screaming their disappointment at my empty hands. I wait while my shoulders burn, my cheeks freckle and my lips crack. I wait through rain and gales and hurricanes. I wait for a vision of chrome and glass flashing in the sun, my name emblazoned in red across the hull. RIVEN (torn apart or split) The day my father died I felt something tear in me. Some unspoken wish was destroyed, some hidden hope that I could know him, that I would know him someday. I scramble through my memories of him, trying to piece together the man that was, who makes sense to me - but I can't make the picture clear, I am lost, and he is lost to me. I understand the fear of being known, of allowing fingers to poke at my sacred nonsense. But it is worse to be alone, alone and dying, alone and dead, intact but broken into melancholy pieces. SUBCUTANEOUS (being, used or introduced beneath the skin) I don't know how you managed it. I spend my entire life building a wall, choosing the strongest stones, the toughest mortar, and still you managed to find the one small chink that would gain you entrance. You have wrapped yourself around me, and hooked your fangs into me. And the discomfort of being invaded, of being known, is excruciating. You slither along my spine, you coil around my skull, you squeeze my lungs until I gasp for breath, and I feel dizzy, and breathless and ridiculous. I have no quiet, no rest. I am manic as a moth at the porchlight. Everything is hotter and brighter, now, sweeter and scarier, and I feel I am losing my mind. TRISTESSE (sadness, melancholy) All the bright birds of summer are gone, left to find warmer places, And these radiant leaves, a bouquet of red and orange and gold, are dead. In a few days they will be brown and crumbling, in a month they will be a memory lost to winter. Everything fades, every beautiful moment is disappears. I can't hold onto the pure light of your gaze any more than I can lasso the azure autumn sky. Where do they go, these dazzling birds of perfection, these rare moments when everything makes absolute sense? They fly away, like you will fly away. They fall to the ground and disintegrate. You will disappear like the leaves in autumn and I will lose you under a mound of snow. UMBRA (shade or shadow) The willow at my childhood home did not weep; I found nothing under the wispy green umbrella but peace. I brought all my favorite things into that place - books and crayons, drawing pads, Barbies and bubble gum. I was invisible, hidden in the shadows, away from eyes that judged and voices that bruised. The fronds protected me, delicate arms that swayed and swept away the harshness of the summer sun. Sometimes I would find things there, mysterious things - an errant earring, a pink pebble, a smooth marble. It was an enchanted place, it had to be, where fairies gathered, and pixies plotted mischief. I would see them, tiny flecks of light that bounded and twisted and danced with the breeze. VESPER (evening prayer) The sanctuary is darkened, a single candle reflecting off the windows and faces of the worshippers. Peace is tangible, warm and heavy as a down comforter. The monks chant; a low, melodious murmur, seemingly without words. It doesn't matter, I know what they are saying because they are my words. This is my hour. I am undisturbed in the lap of God, and my head is resting on his shoulder. WOMB (the place in which anything is formed or produced) A girl, a child of 10 or 11 stares in the mirror at a stranger, confused and alarmed by the budding breasts and the issue of blood. She will learn she has become a keeper of secrets, conscripted as a vessel for the greatest of mysteries. where the blood of one becomes the blood of another and two separate pulses emerge; two rhythms, two songs, two souls. XYSTER (a surgical instrument for scraping bones) Your gaze is painful; your eyes are sharp and uncompromising. None of my carefully constructed defenses can save me, they have no meaning when you pursue me - nothing keeps you from the truth of me, the reality of who I am. I think I am so good at disguise - that I can hide myself in the trappings of life on the periphery. But you push me into meaning, you chase me into the snare of your love, and then you skin me alive. You slice away all the false layers, the flimsy masks, the futile attempts to be anything other than who I am. You carve into the heart of me, and trim away all that I pretend to be. You leave me exposed and powerless, quivering with relief. YAMMER (to whine, whimper or complain) When I listen to you talk, I can feel a hammer pounding away at my head. Each complaint, each grievance, every reproach leaves a dent in my skull. I watch your mouth open, I hear your voice and I brace myself for the blow. Aren't we all miserable, in our ways? Things happen, unpleasant things, devastating things that knock the wind from our chests and cause our hearts to stop. But how can you choose to live there, to stay there, to haunt the morgues and emergency rooms, to gather together every miserable piece of despair and worry your hands can hold? How can you stand to breathe that fetid air, when all around you spring has come? How can you choose to grind your teeth on hard stones and sharp glass, when you are surrounded by ripe peaches and homemade bread? I think you enjoy the misery, you wallow in it, like a dog in filth, and you try to cover me with your stench. When I hear your voice, I hear the sound of dirt falling on the lid of a coffin. ZENITH (the point overhead in the sky or on the celestial sphere) I am drawn to the sky. Each night I stand in my driveway, or on my back porch, and I crane my neck to look into the expansive window of time. I'm not really looking at the sky, rather through it, past it. When I study the stars, I see far beyond those specks of light - I am looking into my past and present, into my future, into every breath and groan and movement of creation. I understand that the highest point, the farthest light that I can make out is as near to me as my nose. It is the space beyond, that unfolds itself like a banner that I am looking into, that I am studying. That is where I was conceived, not in the heat of human passion. I gestated there, floating among the cosmos, feeding off the stars. And that is where I was born - not in an antiseptic hospital ward, but in a space as broad and black as eternity. And so I watch, and I wait, expecting to return to that place I vacated, expecting to take my place beyond the stars. The alleys I find myself stumbling down
The valleys I drag myself through Across every cliff where I barely hang on Lead me on Lord, Lead me on. And when I am grounded at shore again My helm turned to face the wrong star When there’s no wind to begin again Lead me on, lead me on, lead me on. And when I am sinking so low in my pain And I’m thinking I’ll never be more When my hope runs off with my desperate soul Lead me on, Lord, lead me on. Amazing grace how sweet I’ve found
The fire in my veins The spark of light that speaks to me Redemption, mercy, spring Amazing grace that silent sound That whispers in my brain The voice that has no voice but mine Redemption, mercy, spring In the darkest night is the brightest light In the quiet of dawn the loudest sound Amazing grace in leaf and traces Of mercy all around I am sandwiched
between the earth and sky heavy gray clouds press down on me and I am Atlas on my knees swaying with the weight of the world - an imprint of my face is in the sand. There is a path
in the snow, forged by the soles of sensible boots waterproofed and trudging along two by two by two - I step off into the drift deep and icy white it melts on my ankles slides into my shoes and makes me shiver. |