Calling, Calling 1, 2, 3
Calling, calling, can you hear me?
A Super Moon emerges from my senses, and from this SoulSpirit
a distant cry comes
"A-woooooooo," she calls,
"A-woooooooooooot," he responds.
Tomorrow is today and the past is but a dream
as I dive into this spring equinox, into this 2011
when time no longer waits for the present to construct,
when the current construct of mass consumption and populace dissemination
melts and fades away into the long, dark, black night,
into the voluptuous ebbing and flowing, the rising and falling
of these rocking waves, 12' footers crashing overhead
breaking me open
breaking the Earth, swallowing it whole, swallowing us up in
one, cosmic beat,
this momentary joke that is tragically insane
and momentously blissful.
I weep.
Don't you see my tears?
Can't you hear
my call?
My call, call, calling out your name?
Can't you tell I suffer, I strive,
struggling to survive,
my will wilting in this dawn's new light,
in this continued era of mindless production
and cheap thrills produced on the fly in Tijuana
or San Marcos or anywhere
but here.
Can't you smell the pungent, fetid fragrance
of the death dying off?
Can't you feel my hot, spastic breath?
Can't you know that we are
we are
One.
Pen to page, nose to grindstone, hand to tools, love to Self, self to others,
an other,
this other,
separate, distinct yet same, same,
can't you see?
(BTW - Thanks for the best St. Paddy's Day ever, MS!)
