Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Op. 9 The Sangraal
So it seems, but is it true? that for beauty to be, some ugliness must also be. That, for every token of happiness, there must be the hand of sadness holding it. That, while seeing by everlasting light, darkness of mind also, must forever be
And then, from the darkness someone says, "Who do you think you are?" And strangely awake, time stops. And into the infinities of life, through this instant of time, of life do we perceive
Some say what they think and call that themselves. I am not what I think as much as 'I think, therefore I am.' Also, more than what I feel, 'I feel, therefore I am.' More than what I should ever know, 'I know, therefore I am.' And like all others who have no more to say of what they are, I am in my beginning as I will be in my end...'I am that I am'
Within the shadows of hopes and dreams, earthly ambition, the struggle to gain more than what was freely given in the beginning is alone. And in the home, the children want now. And then some dark corner of mind, some ancient grief'inspired belief invites the sins of fathers and mothers to visit themselves upon daughters and sons. Warm winds become chilled, and darkness drapes the child
It has been said, "While ignorance is darkness, be not shameful! Awareness of ignorance is deliverance and light." Yet, darkness we shall inevitably feel when affection is given only upon compliance with requirements of tradition. A belief so hardened by blind tradition can assault like the edge of a razor or the point of a needle. And the pain is searing to the soul. And roses bleed with an overweighted past..its vase, sentiment sank, and from its depths, programs of fear make dreams dark and dank
So darkness of me, speak now!..I am listening. Speak freely!..life of me. Emerge from your hiding if there is so much to be said about your condition. I need to hear the deep of me. I need to breathe from there, even if only once in a fortnight. I need to feel from there, think from there. I need to live where I may gain more than what was given to me in my beginning
Even if we know our end, our journey is no less mysterious. The time of life is a journey of mind, like the Earth turning on its own, revolving around the sun. And the sun spinning, revolving around the galaxy's center. Like the galaxy's journey so far beyond what we shall ever realize, this haven on Earth in the midst of stars is evolving from some beginning, knowing its end. Upon a journey amid a metropolis of galaxies, if only for a moment of a single lunar day, may I feel my deep, feeling the life of me, that, having been given freely, still awaits for me
Every bit of change I call me is a death of me. I enter adventure. I live, and I change from the pain, or from any great happiness I should gain. From the happiness I seek, I die a little. From the pain that seeks me, I die a little
Of all the love and life and love of life there is, who of the living? can condemn the darkness of providence..for hate too, has genes. Or when great currents of wind from many directions meet, and turbulent cells aloft form, and the currents shearing reach down, and great dark masses of earth, water, fire, and air violently ascend...is this some devil incarnate?..spinning its wrath, its treachery indiscriminately, this Will of creation interrupting the Will of life in any that should happen to be in its way. And soon, the same wind ravaging and wasting life becomes dispelled by the land, unraveling to the north and south until moments later, the wake of this hand of creation is but a gentle stirring of autumn leaves. And the lark soars high seeking lush meadows. The meadows shallow become suddenly broken by a surge of moist wind from the distant north. The waters are rippling, and the alligator waits just under its surface
Suddenly, after long labor, a small cry pierces the air as first breaths are taken. The mother immediately comforts the baby to calm his distress. Spirit newly incarnate needs rest. Baby sleeping, suckling breast
And a self'esteemed statesman says, "Sure! We shall make war with outstanding weapons! We make the best and can get them off first! Rather than be overrun by foreign eyes, we would die!..but not before setting fire to them"
The squirrel scurries up a pine tree and across a limb. Pine cones fall, and life's seeds readily spillout and spread out throughout the land
A man finishes his work. He is tired, and he reads the newspaper, and it says, "You may not be able to drink the water tomorrow. Should filter it first. The freeways are jammed. Engines overheating. Earth a'quaking. Hundreds, thousands!..roadside camping. And some angry statesman making threats of limited war with the forbidden weapons was committed to an asylum. A tornado tore up a town in the Midwest and indiscriminately wasted some people there." He throws the paper aside, cuts a cigar into a plug for his pipe, and fires it up, because right now, he is tired, and all he needs is a little rest
The ethers of heaven are suddenly shaken, and a great surge of fire rises to the sky. A black grey, murky massive cloud billowing up, rolling up throws arcs of light everywhere, and thick grey ash pours down from the sky. The evergreen a'fire, and the hills in an instant become barren, dark, and smoldering
She slips into the comfort of his arms. She radiates, and he is glowing in warmth. And in their time, they share the beauty..the sublime sensations. They sustain it for as long as they can
Where the lark landed by the pond for a bit of sustenance, only a few feathers remained to show that it had existed at all. The alligator disappeared for awhile. The lark was never seen again
The child's cry was weak. Days passed since any food was available to eat. Dull pain. The spirit of the land waning, the sun desiccating, the trees dying. Everything is so far away
In the instant the Earth shook, and the sky turned dark, the deer surged and heaved through the brush. But the black sky came down. And the deer freely running, not knowing to where, suddenly became silent beneath a bed of hot ash
Is beauty so easily created? that it can be subject to the whims of violent upheavals. Is beauty so inherent?..because it can be so readily taken away
Their sensitivity had been abused for so long. And because they love, by providence they were marred. And in striking back at providence, as they were taught to do, the repeated bruises inevitably become scars. Within their private void, scars inspire the daggers for their alienation. And they learn to kill. And society accepts their killing for its face value, and readily seeks 'eye for eye.' And the alien predators are wasted. And no one ever learned how they came to be. History again, shall repeat, inevitably
Millions of people are vacant and gaunt from want of food because they are poor. Millions are sick from too much food. And the young are demanding the downfall of the system that feeds them
And the statesman is yelling in his padded cell, "Come on! Step towards me you commie bastards!! Move once more towards me, so I can push this button. Just flinch, move one iota, and you'll see!..who has the greatest power"
Deep in a dark cellar, for many days she has been there on bread and water. No one knew. No one knew except her and her jailor, and she knew not why
Well, after all, when children are raising children, tragedy is near. Is humankind orphaned? On Earth, is humankind like an infant?..without diapers in a crib
The mother had labored long, and finally with what seemed to be her last bit of strength, she pushed. And he said, "The head is out! It's coming out! Now push. Push hard!" Then there was a stillness, a heavy pause, and then a loud repeating cry. And he spoke again, "It's a girl!" And the aged doctor stood in wonder as he always does upon this occasion
The squirrel was sitting on a limb of a tree. The boy seeing the opportunity, approached the tree and took careful aim. The squirrel suddenly dropped, and all was quiet. The boy surprised with his accuracy ran to the squirrel. It was forever still. The boy felt despair because he knew that he made the living spirit leave. The boy silently wept while burying the squirrel, giving back what had so beautifully sprung from the Earth. And the boy heard his weeping, "if only I had known, before I took aim"
How much of life must die before the rest of life venerates it? How many ever?..must die, so the rest may see
On the beach warm, young man and woman arm in arm. Of the stars above they mused. Flying high on love, flying high in the silence of the drug they used. Young, yet so far away...how does youth become so removed?..from this day, this night..this now
The old man in the heavy heat of the city walked crookedly with his cane. He felt strangely new. He knew. Soon it will come, and he watches more intently, feels more intensely..all the things, all the moving, all the living around him
And there she stood a bit shaky raising a cup of milk, taking a drink for herself, for the first time. And having just learned to stand, she soon discovered how much better the milk was, drinking it by herself
Because the man had black skin, he was convicted of far more than he knew, and they dragged him through the streets, and hung him high by the neck. Before country, man, father, brother, or son..they were white, so was their god. He was simply black
"Crying! Crying!! She never stops crying! I have done all I can! I cannot give anymore. Stop crying!! I do not know what is wrong with her. She will not stop crying! Crazy. Crazy!! Evil child, stop crying!" And the mother grabbed the baby..."Stop! Stop! Stop!!" And the baby awoke, and became afraid
The man was far beyond life. He was charismatic and self possessed. He had a deadly potion in hand. By his own hand, he will soon leave this here and now. His power in life was waning. And hundreds of people..men and women, for their own reasons, followed him. And of the men and women, their children followed because they loved them
And the father, in loving his daughter, "My dear, how could I know? You were so little. Your fingers so dainty. Of sweet smiles, you have plenty. My dear one, how could I know?..you, filling my heart so full. How could I possibly know, when you were so little that I would have to let you go. Let you go, for you to love"
The men, grim and determined, hurried the gurney to the airplane. The thin man on it was gaunt and pale. He was silent and peaceful. They rushed the old man. But it was too late. The wealthiest man in the world had just passed away from mal nutrition...died from starvation
Here and now, night and day, bitter terror, sweet sensation. Flesh tearing, fatal pain. Flesh swelling, pleasure gain. Life greater than life, murders life. The alligator does not know the beauty of the lark. The irate mother, the innocence of her daughter. Innocence blind to innocence. All insult to flesh and spirit is by the hand and mouth of innocence, for the predator knows not the prey. The hell of madness, straight jacket, asylum. Two lovers savoring penetrations of nighted pleasures. And two others, drug depressions, confine themselves within their carnal darkness. A newborn cry. A last sigh of life'giving breath. A quiet stream of cigar smoke rises in still air. The night...moon stricken and sullen. Pungent fumes of wet ash rise from a thousand, dead grey trees. A child, a weak cry, turning the sky. A party high on wine and laughter. A penitent, agonizing. A child screaming on a thrilling ride while a woman screams on the darkside of an isolated street. A painful blow. Fresh fruit, satisfied, complete. As this moment is relatively long or short, life passes on and out, within and throughout. And youth's voracious appetite for sensation makes time long..its moments, heavy. Absorbed and passion stricken, the world within, braces for the old, readies for the new. How quickly action so spontaneously passes!..and upon impact, its reaction so quickly assumes to be, within the delicate sensitivities of "I." Or when so much happens at once, flooded senses, mindless, absorbing everything, leaves far behind conscious mind. And it shall happen!..whether time has become relatively long or short, the world within, ready or not, accepts the inevitable change and time a'new. And so, from decaying worlds do the wonderful flora spring. Do the fauna flourish in spirit, does life spring from dark Earth into heaven. And, as in my beginning, I cannot but be in this moment stretched far throughout the living. And within this instant that life contains, I raise the Sangraal to my lips, and being the only cup from which life may flow..the life, far greater than I, its bitters I know, but made subtle..as I drink deeply to receive also, its eternal beauty