Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Op. 4 Rosebud
Fastened to the crucifix of her deep, he was also assured by the part of her that was free. Her freedom, inspiring the love that ruled his mind, suspended man..dark woman..they were bound by dark love with roots randomly arrayed, seeking nourishment in the nights of their affections. And they were carried freely, and their love beginning in dark union had cast its spell, when all familiar resolves readied themselves for the consuming fires, when the boundary between them dissolved, and with new boundary raised, and new'found freedom praised, in the night of their solitudes, they see what, and how much was exchanged
1 Where light once was, there is now a cool silent emptiness. And above, in the midst of this stillness, a slight phase of moon is the only remaining sign of the sun. Creaking arbor arms preside over the winds..softly whistling, barely audible, some birds are fluttering, nestling in for a night's rest. And I hear the sonatas of streaming waters. At this time, far from the dint of light, do all creaking and trickling, all swirling and gurgling waters become random, soft, and melancholy. Deep into the darkness do wind whispers vanish. The slightest voice inspired by the pleasant comforts of silence penetrates deeply into the darkness there. Everywhere, this silence seeps deeply into the sleeping soul of all that lives here. In the far side from the sun, I am deep within the forest where darkness wanders away from the flight of the moon. Deep in this valley before me, rising high from the crooked path of a waterway, does sweet sleep lay. Faraway, amid water'spilling ethers, or here, closeby..flowing swiftly silently before me, does its nighted mist live. In this moment, I hear the trees whisper about the passing crescent light high in the night, because its passage is the only means by which moments keep from becoming an eternity. All else blending, a'rhythms in harmony. Luminescent rock and debris of the living by the stream are like some apparition of mind, some figment of dream. And I know that if I should touch them, upon my hands would forever remain, the substance of a moonbeam. Flowing easily, swiftly, and darkly, the waters pass through me. And then suddenly, as though waking from some dream spell, I remember...in the far side from the sun with all else creeping, rustling, moving easily and silently, all a'blending within a pastoral nocturne, I am also a night creature..spirited by the water's tenor, and by the dew upon fresh carpets of moss, now cool and soft, having long since lost the radiant warmth, once given long ago by a distant starry body
2 And the sign read, "Last Exit. Each person is an opening into a universe. Enter here, into the midst of many. But be aware...from such a journey, an eternity may await you. And from eternity, no one returns the same." It was a turn in space, place of rest, the oldest coffee house on Earth. Thought I better take it before I die. I traveled fast and far, and need only a bit of peace for a bit of time, before I return upon a new course, back to my distant star
3 Neither had we met formally, nor informally. Yet, I felt I knew you. I felt this strongly. Perhaps we are alike in many respects. If this is true, there is always the possibility that you will happen upon me again someday. Maybe next time we will become friends. Perhaps the feeling of familiarity as I had experienced with you, is only a fanciful flight of an imagination ever'poised for motion. The muse setting the imagination in motion, or the imagination magnifying emotion. Which is which? If you are the cause, it would be because of your effortless ability to distract me from myself who perhaps, all the while, is so ever'ready to be distracted. If you are a muse for an imagination always poised for some romancing flight of mind, then our natures may just as likely be un'alike, and unlikely to darkly effect a perfect chance meeting. As you see, I do not know here what is fantasy or real. Nevertheless, I must assume that you are a muse for my romancing mind, and what has been conjured'up there, must eventually be dis'spelled, as I know how. But, it is also pleasant for me to think that perhaps, my assumption is wrong
4 Her hair, radiant and sensitive, is full and alert, and directs the purpose of her autumn spirit. Delicate life. So tenuous its branches, so sensitive its leaves readily falling that life may live, that this spirit of autumn may prepare life for the cold siege of relentless dictums of mind. Her poise is resolute. Her soul, deep..her give and take, great. We meet, and her need reached beyond the faceless disarray of my mind
I was ready, so readily waiting was my body, poised upon the barbs and fires of introspection. So ready was I, to receive the spirit of autumn into my wintering mind
5 I cast a spell onto her, and in the same instant, she likewise enchanted me. Together, we were spellbound and felt the magic, and together we dwelled for each other in forever land
Spirit man and spirit woman formed. Spirit he for the field..agape, all'giving. Spirit she for the home, eros..she all'receiving, but for man and woman, true love be, something more in each, each to each, must be
If both were agape, all'giving, each interferes with each in the course of their all'giving love. Love is offered, yet all'giving cannot receive, and with love un'received, love is starved, and the embryo of love aborts and returns to its star
If both were eros, all'receiving, there is no love to give. Again, love is starved, and the embryo of love unable to live, aborts from the world and returns to its star
Man and woman came to be through each other. The agape river overflowing eros hinterland. Yet, even with this, an enduring love is not secured. For with one all'giving, and the other all'receiving, and their union made, they are as one..of the same. And being one, there is no need for love between two. The embryo of their love does not abort as before..for it was consumed soon after the two became one, the two now, vying for control of the one
Without love, spirit man and spirit woman feel incomplete. With love, if the embryo of their love once born, and after taken its first breath of life is not nurtured thereafter evermore, spirit man and spirit woman promptly fall ill. Empty hearts drain their eyes, like a child's, depraved of affection. In this way, their love too, rapidly ages, grows old, and dies
For true love, the man knows, and so does she, for love eternal to be, it must be..as above, so below...as without, so within...each a soul, and for want of each to incarnate..heart and mind, body and soul, each to each, whole and unique, they must recover from intimacy
For true love to be, he casts his spell onto her, she onto him. Each now, man feeling spirit woman's soul, and woman feeling compassion for him, both can give and receive. And if love between two is nurtured daily, the embryo of their love will come to term, and once breathing freely, be born in forever land..if nurtured and tended daily as two surviving intimacy
6 From his place so small to the world at large, he was drawn following the love mirage. While the love mirage performed her dance, he pursued, unaware of her elusive substance, and discovering that she was not really there, he finds himself, the fool. But how does anyone know? Of love, no one is born wise
7 From some darkened deep did the rains pour. Our image of each other was dripping wet. We cried..laughed, and were terrified. I, king of fools..you, queen of gestures. And the tears became suspended in air..in their stillness the light reflected, and we saw. We violated the taboo of generations. The radiant light penetrated the cold images, and they broke like fine crystal glass. We panicked cutting our feet as we ran. Frantic bleeding hands try to put the pieces together. After so long, suddenly, it seems, we do not know each other. Bewildered..manic laugh. All this from a simple gesture of loving. Cry, and die a little. Laugh, and die a little. I want to live! Let our bodies heal. Let the pieces lay
8 How did I who always deplored romantic illusion, became a devoted slave to one? Was I so needy? that a young enchantress need only reflect but a few lines, shade, and color to what I needed in another. And I, so readily willing to fill'in what was not inspired by her, even contradicted by her, a'wooing and a'pursuing her to the ends of Earth. Did my need so deep cause my view of depth to become so shallow, as to preclude my ability to see others in their own darkness, lightness, and color? Would it have been better afterall? to altogether ignore the occupant and conjure up some notion of her from beauteous line and luscious curve. It would then surely, be two experiencing what each had conjured up about the other, and love to that end, shallow or deep, yet so fragile, so vulnerable. And while rejoicing hand in hand, each lays into the other's the responsibility for the role the other is to play..only to become angered when the other faltered a word, mis'judged, or didn't conclude or surmise appropriately..or critically paused about things that were omitted, or things that happened that should not have happened, or things unsaid that should have been said..and most certainly, continue to ignore what did not resemble the portrait they had of one another
How could I have so fallen? knowing even then, that disillusionment is a beautiful rose compared to illusions of love..for I've witnessed the discord..its dramas vying for control to possess the one they have become. With this dark spectra a'goin on down through the ages, one would think it would become self aware enough, somewhere along the way, enough to burn itself out
And so it happened, by apparent happenstance, her path and mine converged. The queen of illusions, queen of queens..and the king of naives, king of kings. And how willing I was to believe! It didn't take much, I'm sure, for her to mimic my penchant for metaphysical discourse...given already, I, predisposed to romantic psychosis
We were perfect for each other. She wanted to become absorbed into, respected by, but couldn't. I could, but wouldn't. We had between us, great metaphysical dialogues. So great was the metaphysical force between us that when we were not cutting great sensations short, we were beating them to death
She and I...we arose from dark worlds of a different kind. Her, from the ghennas of eros. Me..from the darksides of agape. Her, from maternal traditions of 'leche de madre'..I, from paternal generations of pain'loving. Upon her ground, she posed "Why anything?", and I became aware of her 'non plus ultras.' Yet, illusion or not..psychotic romantic or not, it matters not whether love sees true or not. It only matters that it happens, it seems..that one knows a love greater than one's own earthly self..that one feels the power of a self'transcending force..feeling one's own impending transcension into a greater realm..not post viva, but in viva! A love to cause one's bones to strain under love constraining..impowering one to bear far more than what one might otherwise think to do, or could do. A love that could effect deconstruction, if necessary, of everything..except one's inalienable freedoms, the bones of one's soul
And so, as we were, by chance occasion on a dark Brahman night, an ominous meeting, more than we knew in a 'last exit' cafe...was it a last chance that day? A pot of java buys a table, upon which I spread paper aside paper of metaphysical inquiry. And through inquiry we met in that night..an inquiry that continued for many nights thereafter
Our nights became darker as we learned what we had in common was of a supernatural nature...things unable to incarnate, or be visible or sensible, here and now on Earth. We became darkly tied. I, my illusions defying every unreciprocating experience of her...her, surely, unbelieving my conspicuous lack of demand
Upon an ark originally given for exodus from her ghennas fire, were we. It was large, made of thick oak beams, but with so many holes in its sides, we were vulnerable to the moods of the sea. Its draft was our combined self esteem. It is fortunate in youth, that self confidence is mistaken for self esteem
As it were, we were upon an open uncharted sea, upon a vessel, such as it were, designed I thought, to carry us only a short ways. Little did I know its destination or how sea worthy it was. Soon a high tide and an unexpected current carried us out to a great open sea, and neither her nor I knew where to port, if we knew where any be
Confined, isolated so, it was a long time before the spell of my illusions of her wore thin and transparent. I think she had hope for me, but not illusions. I hoped my illusions of her would become real, but I managed at least, to not hope against hope
More adrift than catching the wind, even with sails, if we had them, would have been of no avail. By some single star must two, together, set a course. It could not be worse..no rudder, no sail, no compass, nor star...only the great distance between us gave our vessel enough expanse to right itself during stormy seas. Without a star to share, all we could do was ride upon a prevailing current. No guide, no vista, no visa...only visceral instinct
As uneasy companions upon high seas, we were tethered tandem by some heavenly spun rope. For all we knew, we were well suited exclusively for one another..however much our course may become divergent light...however much to each other we were damaging, dysfunctional, or mutually oppressive with earthly detail things..and all the while, with no land in sight
Our appreciation for at least being afloat saw us through. We were set upon a course of fortune and misfortune, which includes the range that luck will take with what planned fortune must, with, as it were, 'what did not permanently wound, strengthened,' we trust
We struggled through many storms, and have laid drained and prostrate through doldrum attitudes of sea. Even so, I thought surely our scuttle had some prospects for a sail, rudder, and a cabin or two..given no locked doors or windows that confine. Yet, where could she go? in the midst of a vast sea, under an ancient glittering sky
From storm to storm, doldrum to doldrum, we drifted aimless upon endless seas..and somewhere along the way, we became aware..the great distance between us, though serving us, becomes greater with awareness of it, as love, soul to soul, incarnates more and more
Originally, we had so little in common on earthly ground. We shared some empyrean realm, which was easy enough to do, being prompt, as we were, to remain aboard in the midst of a sargasso sea. At first, we lived uneasily..a romantic incubus, a paranoid succubus. We dared to invade each other's dreaming. And when I could see her without the color and shade of my romantic psychosis, her sensitivity and kindness was genuinely endearing...when she needed me to perform for her a service or favor. And when I felt an inalienable right trampled, I was compelled to defend it, which inevitably would bring the timeless doldrums of her self possessed, self imposed silence that would stretch across months..and sometimes even years. She would initiate silence..I would respectfully maintain it. When speaking, she was not entirely rude..for when the weather was nice, she was nice. When the weather was dark and stormy, so was her face. When the weather was overcast and grey, she turned likewise. The shallowness of her compliments was equaled by her disinterest in my abilities and interests..however much she relied upon them throughout the years, materially and spiritually. There was no consistency in her that I could detect, except as it related to her mercurial moods. Careless, aloof, inaccessible..nearly always competing. How could I take seriously someone who takes themselves so seriously? How could I take my love mantra so seriously therefore? She was irritated by mystery and had to resolve it immediately with whatever was at hand..fact or fiction. Though far out at sea and the only two aboard, she had a frightening ability to be there as though I were not. Her Will to ignore was more effective than I anticipated. She was deaf and blind unable to sense my presence, but it was of mind..willfully deaf, and by our divergent lifestyles, blind. The precious metals with which I fashioned words were but airy twists of wind blowing through the chestnut curls around her head. Drifting upon a sea, its vastness between us, did not diminish her ability to cause the shade of my faults to overshadow my assets. She did not share ideas because they were her coveted possessions. Her desire to effectively communicate was effectively crippled. No respect for my time, nor appreciation for my solicited energies working on her behalf. Yet, a bright ray of light would sometimes shine through the dull overcast grey, when she played with impressions of form and color, or eagerly worked to improve the accommodations of our starlit state rooms. In those rooms was her conspicuous capacity to be infatuated with ideas of other men. This was more peculiar than disconcerting, being an infatuation with an idea, not the man. Her relationships are with ideas, not people, and I had no idea of myself. This was fortunate. She will dramatize to control, or use truth as a Trojan horse to deliver what she wants you to believe..not analyze. If that did not work, then patronize. We were never in any danger of accumulating too much sentiment. She is mean spirited when things go wrong. Keeps promises...maybe. She had proven a certain capacity to be cheap and petty, which is to have such a rigid code of behavior, such a preoccupation with rule unable to fast from itself, that often dollars are spent to save pennies, and sludge hammers are used to drive five'penny nails. Her interest in misrepresenting me is keen..for in our place upon this sea, to herself only, can she be seen. There was no community space separate from private space. I could only be her slave or her overlord. With regard to both conditions, I was a poor performer. Rather than maintaining discipline to love and let live, she wanted only to keep innocence under her breast, to control and un'conditionally give. Her ability to view me critically was good, but it was the only way she could view me, except when a patronizing mood needed a favor or object. When her judgment of innocence is negative, she becomes harsh. When her judgment of innocence is positive, she becomes doting. Her inclination towards me became more to compete than cooperate, sometime after, when my boyish aura wore off
Chaos always seemed impending. Chaos...interference patterns from colliding remotely connected ordered systems. We were so remote that only by instinct could we remain afloat. She was routinely sullen and rude. What else could we do?..in the midst of a wide sargasso sea, but tolerate, and press on
She was a whole experience. I know unselfish love. It felt magical. And I know what it felt like to be loathed by someone who did not know me
We pressed on, and inevitably, it was our fate to happen upon that fatal current..without a star to guide by, or sail to catch the wind..or rudder with which to course by design or whim, we found ourselves at the ominous rim, and in a descent into a hellish maelstrom..for this swell of sea, this stream we were in, was coursing into an unseen boxed canyon far below. We both knew..we could see far enough ahead. No means to alter the course, redirect the wind, or dampen the swelling ridge of the waters ahead. Floundering, we were pulled in. Our dilapidated ark began its descent into a great cavernous maelstrom. It must have been six hundred fathoms across, and the same to the bottom! The nighted sky was broad, and full of incandescent moon. The winds were confused and chilled, yet sea spray was unusually warm. My horizon suddenly rose to a moon a'glow, which cast its luminescence, revealing swirling debris of all kinds, closeby, and far across the way
Our thick'beamed ark hesitated not. As soon as it was over the rim, it descended upon the inside spinning mass of sickened sea. I heard a deadening roar as debris from the land and wrecked ships is ground into oblivion upon a jagged sea bed of razor'd coral far below. Our barge broke into two. It was a sham of a ship, we knew, and though grateful that it kept us a'float, it deserved no more respect. She was white with terror. Her fingernails dug into its splintering wood..clinching with white knuckles, with deep salted tears gushing. Certainly, now, she knows not to cling to something that was barely there even in the beginning..whose prospect to become something more was caught in this maelstrom, and naught for anything else except certain oblivion
If I must go down, it will not be on this pathetic barge! And so without hesitation, I looked deep into the spinning wall of sea before me, and jumped
No sooner did I enter, did I orient to my left to a glittering nighted sky promising a sunlit day..to my right, a treacherous misty abyss and its sickening faraway roar. The world was turned a'wry. Already, due to its overbearing weight, was my half of the old frame..several fathoms away. She, terrified and weeping with a death grip cling'd to her piece of the wreck. She was seized with horror. She was frozen in terror, still a'clinging to a hopeless pursuit. In her face I saw a dark and grim withdrawal. She was unable, unwilling to let go. It soon became apparent that the pieces of the broken barge were descending at a greater rate than I. I thought 'at least the wretched wreck will precede me.' She peered steadfast into the the foaming mists below, the rails of her half she still would not relinquish. The look upon her face..such despair and anguish. Further and further away she moved with terror ever deepening the creases of her soul. I shouted to her for her to see me, for her to see how far away she was from I..for her to see where she was heading. It still was not too late. She was half again as close as I to the dark violent end below. If she could only read my mind..."Give it up! Give it up"
I saw the foam brighten and the dark waters take on a deep bluish sheen. Looking up above the slope of the spinning maelstrom, the waters were smooth, which means the wind had died. That has always preceded the slowing of the tide..and I knew there would be time enough for the maelstrom to fill. If only she would look my way, in my direction, beyond me to her beloved starry night, and see her favorite sun, the lesser light in the nighted sky..brilliant and whole. She was dim and grim. In the midst of the maelstrom roar, my cry is drowned in an instant. I had to give it one more try..and with all my power, to her I cry..."Jump! Jump, woman...jump!! Look to your left and reach for the sky!"
I saw her hands become free, and soon, with a leap of faith, she plunged, reaching for her moon
9 Matters of the heart sometimes steep themselves in hopeless pursuits of a pristine soul. Reaching out, each gesture of a word meets the mirror held by pale hands reluctant to receive the offerings of life. The heart journeys, and in movement has set itself into vulnerable motion. Aye!..the pain is vacuous and deep, and perceives only itself. Empty space. Feeling only itself, dark heart seeks to be felt. But in reaching for the bliss of the rose, this emptiness having grown warm from the anticipation of beauty's fragrance and pose, bleeds from a prickly stem. This rose is a perfect bud, slightly fragrant, yet unopened. And so, heart in darkness, I feel deep darkness..an acquiescence, a numbing stillness unable to provide the tender warmth of radiant inspiration, nor sufficient waters of affection, nor rich soil of sustenance that a rose bud needs to open and live its dream. Darkness streams through the heart swiftly, quietly..restlessly passing. And arising, a fine mist surrounds the heart wherein beauty is shielded, and the gray fogs are overlord to expectant I. Vacant eye, love unrequited? Nay, 'tis only a long valley within which labors of love darken the shadows of a sleeping weeping willow. Wild unripened rye stands in perfection, in perfect stillness, the distant heart suffers the anticipation of another mirror. Another offering is returned. Not even to the wind are drops of blood given to heal wounds of isolation. The small stream is beautiful. Clear bubbling, flowing into pristine pools, but flowing away, flowing up through the dark stillness of a glacial valley, flowing upwards to the sky, here is my hand. It is warm in the coldness of this space between us. My reach is for you. The sun in me aspires to deepen, so my words may brighten. My substance shall enrichen, my heart remains open, and I will gather water from the stream flowing into the heavens. And I shall ever love, and seek whatever else that will help cause you to blossom. In the bosom of an unfinished poem, an abandoned emotion lives in stillness and commands the aspiring rose bud. Commanding me, love demands from far beyond me, and I shall acknowledge the wish of the rose and withdraw. In loving, for the love of living, I only wish to endear..but the expectant rose bud will sting any who is too near. To touch, to know..soul co'mingling with beauty..loving deep, wide, and far, you are waiting, in silence, for the magic to open you. The magic that will come perhaps..when my rapture dies
10 Imagination, insecurity, fear. When woven together, they become strands of a deadly rope that left to itself, kink up into a choking noose around the weaver's neck. And with each bitter gesture of mind, the eyes, the mouth, the body twitches with convulsive spasms of bile'spitting hate. The noose tightens, the spirit is squeezed into stillness. Laying spent, freezing indifference makes the body bare itself to its fire of fear. But it too, comes from a deep wintering of mind, and like a faraway desert sea, the fire of fear is but a simple mirage. False flame! Hopeless indifference! It cannot weep. Not even a drop of sea will proceed from my eye. Sleep! To sleep. Sleeping in oblivion, into darkness deep I plunge
Under the thundering darkness, the sea fell and surged with heavy spirit. Alone, in the night I chose, I arose high upon my challenge to a dark, robust sea entity. Rising high within me, I feel the power of a pounding sky. My motion forward had come to an end over violent waters, a darkly thrashing sea. Murky bulbous clouds are, in an instant, enlightened by thundering radiance. The bursting darkness closing in, the heaving waters are drawn skyward, and my bow reaches for the heavy heavens. My vessel is thrown starboard, rising aft, falling port, the blazing light fills me with its sullen vision. And with each thundering report, I felt under the angry heavens, a great surge rising high above my mast. Over me, a great mountain masked in black broke its pose. The sky fractured by bolting light revealed a breaking crest lurching for me. But chance favored my sail, and carried me away upon the slopes of a dark mountain submerging
Suddenly awake, in the pitch of night, I looked out from my bedroom window. The soft tapping rain. The quiet gentle'touching wind, I felt chaos seeking order in my mind. I saw moonglow breaking through the darkness deep, glimmers of love, whispers of wind gently streaming above
Dark towers of my city obliterate the sky. They fill my eye and impose their stillness like some giant prehistoric thought. Heavy concrete of jutting polygons compete for a place very high. But now, through love darkly, I see the dust settle gently in the grey crags. And humble seeds from the plain, with a drop of rain, maintain their hold in the quiet dark cold
11 The Last Exit cafe, where a writer can rent a table for the price of a Java cup, it was discussed that the unification of law and love was possible, after which, a ring of gold was fashioned with sterling fish and doves. Three of each meant its power, and the unification of each power creates a star. The ring was offered under the light of a full moon, and after that light dimmed, rose'colored cherry blossoms filled her chestnut hair as they rained down upon her shoulders, softly down around her. Eventually, she disappeared. The ring, half size too small, was left behind, and it too, disappeared with a thief in the night. Not marriage, nor lovers, nor friends..but cordial neighbors proved possible by the starry light of fish and doves. The bearer of this ring..I know not, but rose pedals fill her hair as they drift slowly, softly down upon her shoulders, and down, upon earthen ground. All I could do was buy her time