if I could live my life over again would I be the only one or given a new life an empty page or might I prefer to hold the knowledge I have gained, to start in soil as a sprout without the memory of the tree that spawned me and set me free upon this earth as a plotting acorn a cloud of dandelion seed a coconut carried to a different shore on an indifferent sea, or spirit energy transformed back to light and reborn from forth a celestial womb to begin the cycle all-together and all anew (on the universe’s cue)
notes… now that I have been birthed, and know my worth (the universe decided I was ok to be born, I am here), should I trust that to be reborn again- or in some other form. thoughts ?
drowning in thinking perhaps tired of inking these inklings epithets to dreams from threats of a new whirlwind a cascade due an avalanche down doubts weighted by fear the desperate climb out claws from down under pulling downward’sunder but I mustn’t- I mustn’t succumb I must fight for each breath for that reach for life regardless or… or… what?
notes: unlike other animal life we question our existence, but when push comes to shove we do fight to survive, mostly… mostly… are we free from the same death panic ? I doubt it, I am not, mostly in daily life I am but I know I look to the stars and see light that is thousands or billions of years old, does someone see mine ?
the binding profundity of the dark; a governor’s call rings grants a stay from decay pretense/ see-saw \reprieve this puppetry of light until that dire hour from which no noble or vile traveler has been seen or heard from since.
.one of those that just popped into my mind… the profound coming of the dark, the unknown, I know how to hope, I know how to dream, but… how am I to battle that, to survive that, the prospect of never being is natural, yes, but it is almost worse than the alternative, I try to wrap my head around, the universe made me exist, all history united in this, me and you, but yet, given my chance, it will be all over in a glance, it is maddening, it shakes me to my core, there is a time past fear, and this is it, which makes me question everything. and then I fall back and wonder if it is better to question or just live on every breath, even if that makes no difference it makes a difference now, even if that is all we ever will have, I hope, I pray, not… but as my poem says we have not heard from those who have moved on regardless of who they are… and I will be much the same…
so- should I? marry you death- now or then why wait? why the rush? inevitable- the perfect mate; fate- so let the courtship begin and never end. unless I should begin again; reincarnation or resurrection- so let the lantern be lit so I may follow into the path of light.
somedays this feels like being buried alive I can sense the nails driving through the pine see? no, I can hear them though like they are piercing dead skin sinking below the trees into the calming realm of roots sinking beneath the sprouted fields of youth a faded diamond of sand above rust dragging half a fence falling down hanging heavy with weathered ivy half brown but still fair cover (for my slumber and eventual… release)
notes… so sometimes I think about the end, will I have awareness, or consciousness, or… anything ? was I only born when I was which would explain my actual naivety? or am I unaware of my past cosmic past? surely the universe has used these molecules before, just not in this particular configuration.. or yours, if you are asking… the whole entire existence of everything has come down to this, me talking to you, in this moment, or maybe whatever moment you read this, think about that, it is an amazing thing… the entire universe decided we had to be… I want to hold on to that, I want to embrace that, and I try…
voices are distinct, such as we, think about how much goes into a particular voice at any particular time, time, yes, time, genetics, body type, the evolution of ears that are around for the voice to enter, the endless amount of variables that makes a voice unique, because they all are, and then suddenly, like all things, there is silence, that distinction, that amalgamation of so many things… is gone. Never replaced by the same, there is no way to duplicate the recipe, sure, one can try, and maybe even bake something close or near a clone, but never, never to be exactly the same, so that voice has gone out, like a snuffed flame, once a life consumed, a remnant only in memory of a distinct sound, a singular voice, gone out, a golden disc, destined to roam the stars…
voices disappear voices go out like lights- once guided, gilded gilded lighthouse that surveyed the shore gone, swallowed by the surf of years and perhaps not all are lights but some are we come to trust to guide lessons learned beards grow long, and grey salt in the air whether calm or fray a beam we rely on even when we know the way, so well a voice gone taken back into the sea a light out never replaced to be
notes… in tribute to my father, been a year now, he was not perfect, so neither am I. But his voice, the noise, the frequency… there is silence in that space since, his sound’s occupation is absent there… and is missed.
for I am fire- seems the obvious enough, and fuel for this- shall run scant, I know this but still persist- to burn on I know not the source but yet can speculate for the writers, the authors, the morai “to the fates !”, dare I for more puppeteers than scribes pull on strings rather than script the divine to fellow flames, such as they were shelley, shakes and thoreau may contemplate crown thy mantle with a metaphor might they be ashes now in the evermore but the burn-marks still inspire scores even when spoken toward the dwindling dawn such might believe the theogony to spark the daughters of ananke to dwell in this most glorious dull a tool of the realm upon the shoal such as the fuel does inspire such as the wake does drain the soul for this I know for I, am fire.
there- ! storm clouds a’ gathering o’er the grave- of my brave- dead king pray-tell, what portents, will this bring more dead wars- more dead kings.
notes… sometimes I don’t know from where it comes (inspiration that is), I was passing a cemetery, not as old as the country, much older than years I can know by touch… and the words just popped into my head, the idea of a surviving warrior, longing for former glory but also realizing the horror…
so then, I am of so many leaves when my winter makes the call even me, a summer’s child, after all I am so, just a grain of sand lost in great swaths moved by airs and seas; I am just a lost fingerprint- in the generations of humanity a molecule of a mind once mine destined to rise again but never to this form myself, this again so then, will I travel the universe as a particle burst out when our sun’s end sets to coalesce, perhaps to exist, perhaps once again so then, I wish to become I wish to become then – a dream.
notes… I think often, and I admit I have a semi panic attack, about, you know… the end… I try to rationalize it as we all do, and all those before have, and all after will… it is a hard one to fathom, I can convince you that in some physical way we all are perpetual, but as an individual is my life some 100 year span in the countless billions a lost ship in the vastness of an ocean we can not even comprehend… ? I have hope, that this vastness provides a vessel for my existence. I can argue that I did exist.. I am… but what happens when this existence ends for me, am I gone … forever ? I did / do exist but the prospect of not having consciousness is frightening at times… the pure lack of control over, well, anything… all I can do is hope and pray there is something out there that created me and you for a purpose… what that is? I can not say for sure, I don’t know, I don’t have the answers… and I struggle with it…. but also the idea that no matter what I do the inevitable is the inevitable.. that is impossible to square at times…. but I try, I try.
in the house of the dying sun, a knock on the door an uncle a cousin a brother and I forgot to remember- that he is gone for father has traveled on into the land beyond (our senses). the wife, a sister, my mother left with the charge for every crack and nook imbued with the marriage of years strolling through photobooks slow motion silent cinema tales snapshots of a life no longer in motion told and closed, the deacon of my being struggles struggles for reason for faith to believe in our fates for a reason, for a meaning, I yearn for the voice of dominion for guidance, for wisdom for the power to accept as we must, and accept there is no choice no choice in the matter for soon enough I will join you father and once more be of your manor.
notes… been mired in the weather so not posting too much, I have been writing however, just not posting, sometimes life gets in the way, you know ? Thanks for all the looks and comments, I appreciate your time and stopping by.
Shades of My Garden 