She did not remember the way, but she remembered the times, the place. She wanted to connect present to past. She did not know how or where to begin, and yet she needed to try to construct that bridge. Words were all she had now.
Two ways, really, even though she always pretended they were the same. Or maybe it was only her longing that failed to understand that they were two, not one.
She had been dreaming of a river. A man, a boat. Trees, weeping, or was that her own voice, crying on the wind? It had been summer once. Flowered. Sweet.
But here was the river again, littered with fallen leaves. What magic word would turn back the seasons, dispel the haze, repair a lifetime that had already disintegrated into dust?
Was she coming or going? In her dreams a voice kept repeating you have to choose. But between what? Who? Did she get to choose who would be waiting on the other side of the river? Or was she to be the one left waiting?
to begin, become the current– sing its song
Brendan at earthweal has more to say about rivers this week and poses the question: What voyages are found there, which deities are vast in its depths? It made me think of my response to the Kick-About #61 prompt, which was Molly Drake’s haunting song, “I Remember”.
I wasn’t aware of Molly’s connection to Nick Drake, but when I learned that she was his mother, Molly’s song immediately made me think of Nick’s song “River Man”. I took the feeling I got from both songs–a kind of remembering intertwined with uncertainty, loss, and the passing of time–and wrote the above prose poem, adding a haiku coda for earthweal, and some water art from my archives.
I visited the Oracle as usual early this morning, and her words so much reminded me of the NASA photos of Jupiter I saw recently that I did something I haven’t done in a very long time–I painted a piece of art especially for her words, rather than searching through my archives. It’s still wet, so the colors may change when it dries, and it doesn’t exactly resemble Jupiter, but it’s the spirit more than the exact image that I wanted to capture.
The cosmos is endlessly and unbelievably beautiful, despite the havoc humans may be imposing on our tiny and insignificant blue planet. A little perspective does the psyche good.
born in the blush between air and breath
like laughter dancing naked over oceans of ferocious life
the voice of the universe embraces the holes in our foolish desires
sailing them open into a vast sky of magic nights surrounded by dazzling stars
The sea gathers me in, keeps me between, a creature of neither water nor land, held forever inside spirals of moontides, echoing back into what is neither mine nor self.
Around and around the waves spin me along the path of an immense Möbius loop. I oscillate on the edge, barely there, beyond human sensing.
Deeper, extended, enhanced. I am in need of rendering. I am in need of being opened until the stars wrap around my core, untill all of me is whispered into music like light.
I absorb the flickering of images—felt but unseen, channeled within each breath, ungraspable. Always this interpolation, this blurring of what lies beyond as it merges into the finity of my body. Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings me into the place where my boundaries fall into the cosmic abyss.
For the dVerse prosery where Lisa has given us a quote from Oliver Wendell Holmes:
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:— –from The Chambered Nautilus