2016 02 07
I cannot find in the trash can of thought
sublime words to express what truth I saw
when I was trudging forlorn and depressed
in drizzling rain of misery and despair,
for a strange vision enlightened my soul.
Fired from that great dream job as therapist,
where I tried to help people find new purpose,
I went home to find my beautiful wife,
who refused my desires these past three years,
in bed with my best friend, and panting wild
with sweet pleasure she never shared with me.
Heart broken in shock and numb with blind rage,
I wandered nowhere in desolate streets
of cold cement, harder than my cracked heart,
wishing I had courage to step before
rumbling garbage truck so its brutish hulk
of mindless indifference to my hopes
would crush my bones into atoms and light.
I must have walked through blinding swirl of mist,
groping lost against rough brick walls of banks,
because I stumbled into ring of stones
on top lush ancient hill of Emerald Isle
beamed bright gold by eternal glowing sun.
I stood astonished in large fairy grove
where warriors in wolf-fur cloaks, gripping spears,
leaped wild and howled around large roaring fire,
and witches in hemp gowns and flower wreaths,
clutching baskets of apples and red mushrooms,
twirled in spiral rings and chanted long hymns.
Then flash of lightning splitting sky of stars
illuminated every face of laughing eyes,
as drum beats ceased and flute tunes faded soft,
and every dancer stood still in close pairs
of man and woman holding hands in circle
of breathing breasts that throbbed with beating hearts.
I knew the names of every face I saw,
all the mothers and fathers of my soul
who ever lived and loved ten thousand years,
and live now as spirits inside my dreams.
I raised my arm and lifted high toward moon
gold scepter gleaming like lost ray of sun
that flashed large diamond eye of gleaming light
as if it held ten thousand stars within,
and shouted with the voice of a young child.
"Behold, from heaven steps our Fairy Queen,
Istara, Mother Goddess of all lands
that blossom flowers on our spinning globe,
who brings sweet juice of life for all to drink."
From swirling mist she stepped, tall slender woman
in flowing gown of gossamer and silk,
head crowned with ring of gold that glittered bright
from light of twelve gems dug from mountain caves.
Her hair like grape vines flowed around her cheeks
in shimmering web that forms woof of this world,
providing fruit for every hand to pluck
so hungry souls of every land may feast.
Her eyes like emeralds cast forth glowing rays
that pierce the hearts of every mortal soul,
and though I was her son, born from her heart,
I felt her eyes extend transforming hands
to gather flowering stars from endless sky
and mold bright shining sun of singing thoughts
that burst on wings of bees and laughing crows
from spiraling eyes of my infinite heart.
"Istara appears now, Bringer of Light,
for she created all this world of things
from words she speaks with breath of misty hills,
and though I die ten thousand times, each life
I live again reborn from fertile womb
propels me forward to follow bright sun
far west around this spinning world of dreams."
But then sweet vision vanished from my eyes
just as I was about to understand
why I thought I was alive, before Death,
immortal Mother alive in every woman,
transformed my fathers into their new sons,
who each became my father in his turn,
and then I stopped on signless road somewhere
between that island of honey and milk,
and this steel city where I stand forlorn,
and turned back to see faces of my fathers
gazing mute at me with assertive eyes.
"Sire a child and give all our souls new life
so we may live again to savor love."
So then I realized with laughing shock
that, though I lost my job and faithless wife,
that life I was playing on sterile stage
was nothing more than drama of desire,
thus now that play is done and audience
of all our friends went home to their own plays.
I quit that tragedy of frail despair,
for now I laugh at comedy of love
as I begin to write another play
that will present my hungry mortal soul
as antihero leaving broken stage.
I begin new quest beyond city streets
of wretched ambition for power and fame
in search for that ring of stones on lush hill
where my ancestors danced and sang wild hymns.
Somewhere outside this absurd theater
of my messy life in this futile play
she waits for me to begin my true quest
exploring this world of a thousand valleys
to find her working in her fertile garden
where she prepares sweet drink that will refresh
my aching heart and fill my soul with love.
Now I will leave these ruins of my life
and bring light to the garden of her heart
where I will build new tower from old stone
and teach our children to sing ancient songs.