Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Op.16 Collage
After the whirling wind whispered to the simple arbor, thorns sprang from its branches. The sky brightened, and budding tears for the immortal surrender rested in the midst of a storm of thorns and jagged leaves until, radiant blossoms fell upon heaven
Fear fell in love, but to live in love, Fear knew it must not hide, be denied, or put aside. But there were too many things evil and unknowable. So, Fear sought understanding and felt more at ease. And Fear gained some understanding and felt pleased. And then inevitably, Fear became wise. The word, 'evil'...it disappeared! It was simply turned a'right to read 'live'
For peace of mind, I would find a place where the wind does not blow, where I do not know what will happen next. When I am darkly divided, one self wars upon another. This place in the center of a whirling storm. For love, I was their eyes. I saw the world in disguise. For love, I left them behind, keeping one I had in beginning. Now living as I was in my beginning, I will clearly be, all love given freely. This peace is worthwhile, being there for awhile, I shall be whatever I find
In sleeping I die. Next day, I heard the Earth say, "Welcome to heaven." When I saw the tree, it was holding together the Earth and the sun. When the pond was calm, the wild rose saw its image, and its pedals fell. Upon barren ground, where life cannot be perceived, the tree will not grow. The spirits living, carry the still life away from death's razor'd scythe. Brilliant diamonds sparkled upon distant fields until the surf broke. In the nighted wood, I braced for the monster's fang until the wind died. Starlight, o'starlight, where is the starry'body? that makes you so bright. When I touched the sea, I felt the moon pulling me into its haven. And then the night'd moon gave all its light freely so the Earth could dream
Because the kitten, who propounded too far, plunged twenty lengths, and landed in the straw..and because a fledgling, wanting to fly, tumbling out of the sky, was caught by a tree..and because he was just a little spike wandering freely, and suddenly afraid, happened upon a path homemade...serendipity is a mysterious substance. Some call it divine aura. By others, charm, or mere facade owing to the grace of unerring instinct. But how ever called, a bit of luck is fortunate, and surely, reserved only, for the very innocent
Long ago it seems was my body formed. And carefully tendered was I then. With many needs did my life begin. The year, the month and day, the hour they knew, even the minute they say, when I began to live. Yet, so many times since then, from great laughter or deep sadness, did I end and begin, did life seem endless. And whenever I feel down and too alone, I rise up and seek the sun that melts the frost, seeking to find birthdays lost
Upon the earthen ground amid twigs and pebbles of all kinds, the ant labored long. And I peered closer to see the huge fragment of leaf that the ant was diligently dragging with incredible strength. Many others were passing'by with ease. They were carrying easily, food and debris of lesser weight than themselves. This ant struggled far with one large morsel of food, pushing, pulling with undaunted will upon a crooked path back to its hill. In comfort do I continue to watch, and so close am I to this hard working creature..yet I, this creature perceives not. I am watching an entity of life that is unable to see me, as I see...and then, all became silent, I felt a deep stillness. I looked aside, closeby, to the sky...who is there!?...watching me, seeing me, as they are able to see
From angry fits of children, overlords to children do bars of fear close the past. Darkness embosses its mark on precious life. Enslavement, brutal offense to flesh. Resentment and agony of despair for life slipping into the dungeons of fear, innocence becomes so paled. And innocence thus horned makes a last grasp for control. The victims demand vengeance, and the children once again, become lost
Called forth from sweet emptiness in the straw, I arose to proceed upon a tree bearing gifts. I happened by, and my appetite ordered me to flutter the tree feeder for a radiant crimson apple. The apple dove to the cushioned floor and rolled down the rise. I radically ran after it until I again discovered it by the river's boundary. There, I lifted the sweet mass and appreciated its gifted nectar, and while breaking my fast, I mused about the fresh fallen rain. For congregated tears from Eden to flow, all Earth must regard itself as more sublime than the sea. Furthermore, tears must take the path of least resistance over pain. Yet, while a tear is within the inescapable grip of fear and despair, how happy and free'flowing it seems to be, having gathered together, running cheerfully...but blindly, running toward a cliff! A water falling!..to become lost in a primordial sea! I must quickly learn how..and speak to the tears in the sky, and fore'warn them
Between awake and a dream, I am in non'darkness, and there is no light. Nowhere, or somewhere, between awake and a dream, I do not perceive something, nor do I perceive nothing. I do not perceive. In this death we call rest, do we experience everything at once? Is this 'all and everything' living, true oblivion? Between awake and a dream, like some machine, I am shut off from all, I am non perceiving. I am non'being. I have ceased to exist. How?..is this possible. This little hiatus. Is this the bliss innate?..a rest from all and everything that can only be experienced by the living, the motivation to incarnate
Suddenly there is morning. The home is dark and silent. With subdued light I search for clothes and dress. Morning air is heavy. The weekend eternity has made me cold to work. My path is worn, but somehow..I will capture and hold this day that rutted routine so rudely before made forgotten
One gave pain to the other. The other hurtled a hard object back. They fought, and enraged they caused each others flesh to bleed. They hug. They hate and curse! They give sweet kisses, and want to be held. They want everything! They demand now. Gentle supple winds, moving swiftly between winter and summer, I shall always remember how tender the children are
The waxing moon is especially bright tonight. The still night gives warm darkness. A dark breeze carries a brief message from winter. The smoke from my pipe drifts and ascends into the stillness, curling up around faint moonbeams
Wrought with conflicting passions of want, in darkness are children begetting children. The alien light shines, and we are reluctant. The naked soul is not perceived. Otherwise expectant, tradition is embarrassed, yet relieved, and compelled to harden, willingly dwells in unabashed darkness, from which the cycle of life once again cycles
Death is as fleeting as a wisp of wind softly whispering, "You have passed away." Death is a soft thing, like moonshade, cast from something new made. Death is a gentle thing, like a down feather, freed and drifting, lost and falling..never to be as it were before. Death is a subtle thing, as common as a new experience. The result of an experiment, the occult of enlightenment. Death is subtle, fleeting...soft, and gentle
New life resting from so many births and rebirths in a day. Tender sleep cradled, I am listening, waiting for heaven to speak. So tender are the moods, consuming smile, breaking cry. So delicately constrained are they, that beside them, I lay restrained and motionless. Simple sweet stillness, tender moods sleeping..feeling love possessing, I hear heaven speak..."Thou shalt not possess title to youth's beauty. Thou shalt not covet its truth"
How intense do we feel this here and now? How clear do we hear the winds wandering through the leaves of trees, or drops of rain falling softly upon a window pane? How readily do we sense sweet nectars adrift upon aestival spirits, or the earthy fragrance of autumn air. How intense do we feel?..do we perceive, do we live this now. Past and future!..be not too heavy
While bles'sed gifts of mind are bearing the diligence of talent, the glow of intelligence, the show of faculty, yet am I, bles'sed unthinking..gladly collecting and sorting rays of twilight..busily counting faint moonbeams upon a still mid'summer's eve
In the night I feel, the moon brightly for real. High in the darkness am I, wrapped in softness, sleeping in the sky. And then suddenly awake I hear, the moon to the sun, "Thank you. Thank you, my dear. I shall now forever be in their minds"
All knowledge that is, all power that is, all things that are, all space everywhere cannot be comprehended in this here and now. This jointed, disjointed 'all and everything' is the eternal that disposes me as a creature'being. And so disposed as self reflecting light, I need occasional rest, moments of at'one'ment with all. I must atone to avoid the inevitable ill'fates of protracted isolation. Suspended like a sleeping body deep in space with head, arms, and legs assuming its own inertial frame of reference, at one with 'all and everything,' I assume the natural center and order of me before rejoining the confined limited world I had left. Absently disassociated, or per chance, misery in isolation, I shall forego remaining feeble sensations..and for a brief eternity, once again, no boundaries between myself and 'all and everything'...peace
Once the wind was whistling. And above, there was a tear in a dark cloud. The tear fell, the Earth sighed, and the whistle became carefree
Once, I received tobacco for my pipe. Life began, a good light was given, I began living. The coal was radiant and warm. From it, I drew pleasure, often and regular. And inevitably, later, the coal died. Slumped in sorrow, I silently cried. Despairing, sighing, I drifted back to my beginning, and suddenly lifted up strong, remembering how I began..and gave, knowing it was good, giving until my heart was full, feeling more whole, though only partially so until a spirit appeared and gave new light, strange and bright, for my dark wooden bowl. The coal, now warm and radiant, and the sky!..the Earth!..and all the living, with color, splendor!..brilliant candor. This tobacco gift, I love..and love and love, until the last becomes white ash
I should not hope for love. Why make overcast days? I am difficult enough to see. I have enough trouble seeing. And only her who can see me, and I her, can love be. For my greatest need, I dare not hope. Without hope there will be broken skies. I know the dark clouds shall pass..only by the blessed sun can I see. And she dare not hope either. It's better this way. No hope for love. There is always a new day
Once long ago, a flower in Sweet Haven lived happily shining bright. No fragrance it had, yet beauty..a dazzling sight! And then, a busy bee happened by, and in mid flight, stopped and said, "This cannot be!"..and immediately spread sweet fragrance over each of the leaves. Happily, the bee continued its flight, now that order had been restored, and the day...bright, sunny, and gay. But the flower left behind, sighed a wilting sigh, and died, under a bright blue sky
In search of the one, I have loved many, but not finding her there, only phantoms of my dream reflected..and each reflection inevitably returned another facet of me, each reflection enabled me more to see her. I know that she is here..on Earth. I knew soon in life, very young, after my first epiphany revealing freedom of mind, knowing she is in kind..like to like with me..but where? when? and even how?..could I recognize her. Had I known that this search of her would be through so many eternities...had I known the path would be so convoluted and circuitous, even sometimes encircling..me..full of hazards, detours, mislabeled landmarks, dark misty valleys...had I known all this, my first step would have been made with no less hesitation. From love to love, however much ingenuine, varnished, or ingenuous..however much incomparable or incompatible..and once with someone supernatural and super'saturated with themselves..however much prolate I was, or hopelessly late and inadequate, distractions from the heart, mutual dys'satisfactions of soul..however much unconscious a matriarch's heart and soul was, assaulting my inalienable right to be, set aside for the survival of some ancient rite of rule, I endured a history..frenzied raptures and brooding storms from sea to doldrum sea, only to wreck upon the shores of another completely unfamiliar land. And facing uncertain horizons of wanton appetites, wordless desires, and sparkling delectibles of assaulting hopes, fantasies..and dreams..exhausted and weary, I discreetly retreated..when another beauteous voice, alluring and seducing, raided and invaded, and held me as the tendrils of her romantic psychosis gently moved to entwine, encirculate..the dark ground darkening, I was subtlely but most assuredly sinking in thick oozing mud. From all of this, I've been delivered to this moment..a sage at some level perhaps..but more lucky than wise, insofar as my path always journeys to something new..for while the 'only one' was, as it were, the 'next one,' the next one could be 'the one,' if from all these adventures through strange hands and stranger lands, I've developed the mind, heart, and soul..enough to at least see the land in which the one for me dwells..to see her there, and with her see all and everything of which we are a part, in all its splendor. Woman is attached to Earth, weighted in search of more weightlessness. Man is detached from Earth, weightless in search of more weight. Is it a Man's cry?..the 'unbearable lightness of space over sky,' and a Woman's mirth?..the 'unbearable weight of Earth.' By design, however, there is enough in common between man and woman for them to be attracted to one another..otherwise a man would crash and burn, and a woman would become lost in space. As it is then, does life in the human race actually take place somewhere between the Earthly mud and distant stars?..in that, if it takes place on Earth, there is a man fallen..if it takes place among the stars..there is a woman lost. Some where between Earth and the stars, we would be, with a lifestyle more of how we see, negotiate, and navigate through life, than what we do. Some where between ethereal stars and earthly mud, two souls entwined speak love so bright with lips brushing ears through a vast space that makes galaxies blink..like any other star deep in the night
When the world makes itself new, remnants of the old rear as a deadly snake. In the beginning, everyone fears..fears the snake, fears the new. Fear inspires a sense of humanity, what is at stake. The snake will be stunned and gradually fade, but in its wake of fear, the world new'made, continues on..not united by fear, but by what is human
Not everyone sees the rainbow. Those who do, rush towards it, unknowing that it is unreachable, untouchable..unfathomable. Like a thief's shadow it appears, and steals company previously felt. Its radiance lures. Through days and years of loneliness, chasing, seeking its beauty..and in the emptiness after each prospect, the rainbow, faded, is all there is for company. The room is dark and gray, shadowed by brooding heavens. The one who sees their rainbow does not see that it appears only when it rains, when its beauty is refreshed in all its splendor for another day..or year if need be. Day to day, year after year, I chase the rainbow, and even though it disappears upon the verge of touching, only good things spring to life along the way. Me and my rainbow...it is really not so lonely after all
The belly ached with emptiness for a long time. The mind was utterly empty. The heart, vacuous. The emptiness sunk deeper until the bones of soul became exposed. Anything digestible was needed to make full, the belly of the beast, and block that void from bleaching those bones. But there will come a time when the void must return. The beast shall have its day. A single path through endless seasons created a trench..its depth, unknown until first attempt to climb out when that path came to its end. In the dark after reaching the surface, soiled and exhausted, the void is as deep as the trench left behind, a void that would have once bleached those bones of soul. And at first light, at first sight, the world is a desert for what one needs. Do something meaningful!..for the celebration of life, but when the stomach was empty and too deep to fathom, the only thing meaningful was to stuff it and buy time. After passing bloated years, visceral evenings deliver only one's self to one's self. The time arrived to perceive what was previously unfathomable. Once, for a brief time, the tediums...they made my day a purgatory. They gave me a gnawing in the gut. I knew not what to pull out and throw away. Why so empty, were these grey'shadowed moods? that trivialized everything. Was I too much for myself to see? But even so, why not recognize the radiant consciousness that awakens me each morn, the radiance by which I brush my crusty teeth and wash my seedy eyes. From the wind, do not I sense feelings gently stroking hair and cheek? And all this space!...do not I detect a profound mind there? Or all this matter...surely a greatly convoluted consciousness, a resolute Will is obvious..a sense of presence in every bit of substance. I came to this. I was not alone. Never have been. Once, long ago, I killed the beast with pasta, protein, and whey, and with all the celebrations of life, and all the atonements with all and everything around me. Alas!..the beast had its day. My soul with the time of life, deepened. The void that once exposed the bones of my soul, is needed as space for what life has given, what all the celebrations came to mean..what I value. I look within, and that is what I see, what I have been, what I am now, and for what I will be...there is plenty of space. There always will be