Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Op. 9 The Sangraal
So it seems, but is it true? that
for beauty to be, something ugly 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 can
ever know, 'I know, therefore I am.' And like anyone else who has no more to
say of who they are, I am as I was in my beginning...'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 singular, and alone. And in the home, the children want
now. And then some dark corner of mind, some grief'inspired mood, 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 feeling so
hardened by blind tradition can assault like the edge of a razor, or point of a
needle. And the pain is searing to the soul. And roses bleed from an
over'weighted 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, and
revolving around the galaxy's center. Like the galaxy's journey, so far beyond
what I could ever realize, this earthen haven in the midst of stars is
evolving..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, awaits 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 fallen 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 breath is taken. The mother immediately
comforts the baby to calm his distress. Spirit newly incarnate, needs rest.
Baby dozing, 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 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. With evergreen a'fire, 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 running fast, 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 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 towards me, and you
will see!..who has the greatest power"
Deep in a dark cellar, for many
days, she has been 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 nearby. Is humankind orphaned? On Earth, is
humankind like an infant?..with a bib, but 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 is 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 is 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 grieved while burying the squirrel, giving back what had so
beautifully sprung from earth. And the boy heard his grief, "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..under a purple moon
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, everything 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, woman, and
child..they were white, and 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 child, 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 man on the gurney 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
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 the living moving,
so spontaneously passes!..and upon impact, its reaction so quickly assumes, and
moves spontaneously on, into a separate reality. 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 change and time a'new.
And so, from decaying life does life spring, does all life flourish in spirit.
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