I can’t think
Correct?
Mend all this?
There is a tree in me
When I find the tree in me
I then know life
My Columbine
In the Paths of my confusion
When reason and reality play games of chase
Comfort me dear Columbine
Soothe my soul with your song
As I rest upon the breast of my Mother
The mother I share with you
Let me meditate upon your beauty
Dance for me dear Columbine
In my fears, hesitations, doubts
You give me strength
All the great mysteries are held within your soul
The answer written upon your petals of grace
Never wait too long…
Uprooted
Misplaced
The spade digging deep into her flesh
She was found there, mangled, battered, her flesh seers as the heat probed deep into her wounds
He wandered by and saw past the mangled outer casing that held a small resemblance of a life that was once inside her
He picked her up, healed her wounds with wisdom and kindness. Or was it pity? Did he know she had once stood proud and beautiful in a field of many? Did he feel embarrassment for the pathetic, worthless existence she must now feel as she lay there in a box, mangled…..broken….bleeding?
He stayed there, checking in on her, giving her the nourishment she needed to survive the winter. The water, the words, tender touches she felt as he glared at her in pity.
Was his goal the challenge? Did he feel he had been given a challenge that, if completed, he would be a better person. He then could walk proud among the many? If he could make her grow once more, then he shall be blessed by the Gods and grow himself into the Master of the garden.
Spring arrived and into summer. She had been used to staying there in the box, looking at him from a distance, waiting to see what each day would bring. Finding any happiness she cold in her surrounding and secretly desiring only him the entire time.
He slowly covered her with soil. She did not understand that it was for her own good. All she could see was his face, his words, his love fading slowly as she was covered, smothered with the very thing, the only thing that could give her life. He had no choice. She would not live exposed. Each day it became heavier, the dirt upon her body, covering her like a corpse in a shallow grave.
Until there was nothing left. She opened her eyes and saw nothing. She strained to hear and there was only silence. Being buried by him was not her concern, he was. Was he OK? She lay there in her dark grave and wondered where he was, what was he doing, did he think of her, did he miss her as much as she missed him, did it hurt him to do this to her, did he know that she had fallen in love with him, as wrong as it might have been. Did he know? Did he care?
Then he too tossed her away. Not as the others. His intention was to be gentle, to help, to allow her to strengthen her roots until she was able to stand on her own.
She did, she grew, once more she became one among many, and by Spring there she was, standing tall, forgetting the struggle, the strength it took to break ground, to face the sun again, to live. And she was beautiful again. She stood there two seasons, hoping he would drop by and check on her. She waited. Even as the others crumbled around her, she waited, she knew he would come. He said he would never desert her. He would come. Just to hear his voice, sense his presence, know he cared, know he knew….how much she wanted him to hold her in his hands again.
One by one the others were gone. Some unseen force taking them slowly from her until she was left there completely alone. Still she waited. Windy days took her strength and energy. But she stood there, waiting. Then news from afar that contained his name. A story of her love, mending others on his journey to find the perfect one. One day, he opened his eyes and found her, his love, his one, his perfect flower in the field of many…..
It was not her
She fell in pain
There she remained the Broken Iris
You want to taste my pain?
Will it make you a better person?
Will you score points with the Gods?
Here, taste, the spring runs free, sip as you wish
What? You need to devour me first? OK, here devour, take my heart first, you know it is the most tender
That is not enough? You need my soul as well? Then take it, you had it long ago, did you forget?
And that is still not enough, you desire more, here let me take care of your thirst, sample more of the fluid as it drips from me
My love, you wanted my love, you had it…..long before now. I thought you would know, if I had to tell you, say the words, then you really did not want it to begin with. You stood by and let me throw it away, my chance, our chance, discarded in the wind because in desperation I chose what took me first….and I was wrong.
You are still thirsty? I have more. The spring has filled again after all of this time. Here, take it.
Not this way? I am not worthy now for the Master to drink from the fountain? My flesh is not pure enough for you Master?
Here you go…..me in the purest form, exposed for you, let….into this golden chalice, fit for the King you are
Poison you? I would never. My love was not cast aside so easily, it was and shall remain eternal. I cry for you. I did…..all this time. Knowing what could have been if you had only said…..I need you. Poison never…..I will drink first, show you my purity…..prove that I could never hurt you
Funny
It tastes like blood
To Paul
The hand reached down to me, warm, years of compassion and wisdom written gently in the lines of the palm
As I reached to touch, barely grasping. there was yet another, just as warm
I lay there in my grave, choking on the worms feeding on my flesh
A decision was made in haste and I grasped the hand, the one that was thrust closer to me, the one that appeared in the dirt to pull me out…..
or so I thought
to what reason was I saved, so that my cold body could be moved to yet another grave, more remote, killing death as if death alone was not enough
In recovery, a moment of sensibility and sanity, clarity, I realized the hand I grasped in desperation was the dark hand of hell himself, the warmth I felt was my own blood covering his flesh
So I chanced to return to my grave, seek the hand of salvation. It was still there compassionate, caring and wise…..
And it was cold
Your silver coat glistens as I watch you run to me
I swear I can see a smile on your face filled with glee
I know 200 pounds is about to hit me in the chest
So I go down on my knees and await the jest
You get closer and I hear you breathe
I know what’s to happen but I refuse to leave
Bracing myself with my body intact
I hold my breath and await the impact
You discover the game is not as cool this way
Coming to a halt, you walk slowly to play
So I stand back up with my arms outreached
You dive bomb, knocking me off my feet
You lick me all over as if to mend
You tricked me again…..my very best friend
My Old Friend
As I ran I felt the ground shake, my heart pounding as each breath exited my body. I fell, crawled, dragged myself to you, knowing if I could see your outreached arms, peace would exist.
The drops began to fall upon my face as the darkness was interrupted with each streak of light. I fell once more, in pain this time, and felt numb inside as the hardness of a soul slammed into my wrist.
I could not stay there, pretending to be a part of it all, sleep soundly on the breast of our Mother. I would not rest, my body nor soul, until I crossed over and smelled the scent of your love drawing me to peace.
So I rose and walked, limped in pain, knowing soon you would be standing proudly before me, pointing my way. I crossed over and felt relief for within moments I could touch your flesh and the fear would cease.
Then suddenly, a shadow in the dark, standing before me, the God I desired in each waking thought. Your arm pointing to safety, before the tomb of darkness that I shall enter this night.
I touch you, thank you, hold you, as if my life were over had I not been able to find you. I crawl into my tomb, shaking, wet, SAFE….I sleep until morning light….
I awake to…
thank you dear friend
From the Journal
April something, 1996
The longest trip yet and well worth it. I have been out about 3 weeks now and have 2 more or so to go. This morning finds me beneath Joyce Kilmer, close to Santeetlah. I slept well in a debris hut last night and when I crawled out from underneath my cacoon of sticks and leaves, I felt like a butterfly exiting the cacoon for the first time.
The weather is good today, cool, hinting Spring, yet holding on to Winter with a desperate grip. My goal today is Jeffrey’s Hell. I will make it by nightfall, but I cannot get motivated to leave my beautiful Santeetlah. 3 weeks since I spoke to a human. I smelled the camp of hunters yesterday and for a second I thought perhaps I would drop in for a visit, the second passed and I knew it has not been long enough. I preferred to remain in my blissful solitude.
Pictures, pictures, pictures this time. Destroying Angels, for which I wrote a poem yesterday, Indian Paintbrush, Jewelweed, Joe Pie, Loosestrife, and the tiny partridge berry that graced my oatmeal this morning.
Tracks about 3 days ago led me into North Fork. The bear are plenty this year and the camera will not do her justice…..
I have sit here alone, enjoying the tea, the air, the scenery, the peaceful way this mountain grasps your soul and guides you through the pages of time. I thought, I am alone….
I felt I wanted someone to share this with, who could respect it, feel it, love it as much as I. See the beauty and never desire to leave. Sit by me in camp and talk about the spirit of the stones, the music of the creek, Tom Brown, Jr., stories of the ancient ones…..life. Share tea, wild mushroom soup, skinny dip, lie naked on the rocks at the creeks edge and watch the sun move slowly across the sky, make love with the Earth beneath us and become one as our rhythm matches the heartbeats of the Spirits that surround us….
and then I realized that it would never be. Some Spirits are meant to be alone, some Spirits can only learn in solitude, stillness making them grow. Sad? Of course, the silence is heart breaking at times. BUT….if it were ever meant to be, I would not appreciate the gift as much if I had never been taught lonliness.
I see Columbines by the rock…will anyone else ever see them?
Today I remembered what it was like to hear your voice.
When I remembered in the past, I recalled it with pain, loss, heartache. I thought of you with questions, concerns, fears, regrets. I pushed your memory from my mind as far as possible, becoming something I am not, becoming an empty shell, blank stares, hidden tears.
Today I saw your face
I did not run and hide as before. I did not change my mind at the last minute, knowing it would cause me to die inside. I did not reach out and touch you, closing my eyes, feeling your features, wishing.
Today I heard you smile
I did not think you were not deserving, I did not wish it was a result of my actions, I did not secretly pray you noticed, you remember. I did not visualize that you still want me, need me.
Today I felt your touch
I did not pull away. I welcomed it with an open heart, grasping your invisible hand and pulling it to me, my body begging you to hold me, forever. To forgive me, want me.
Today
I died, and I am grateful dear friend
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