Thursday, January 31, 2013

Stream of Consciousness: Portal to Remembrance


A recurring dream...

I am hiding in a cave.  I am afraid because Nicaea’s Master of Ceremonies has decreed death to all who attempt to shear his rayon wool.  He will eat me alive if I am not careful to stay quiet.  I am still...then I hear the gurgling whispers of a civilization that once found its glory above level of a dark sea.  They are drowning in an abyss of lies but they want me to breathe for them.  They want me to draw them in as life then speak.  I see inside myself.  I have papyrus for bones and in the distance a mob is progressing forward with torches aflame. What they could not submerge in murky water they want to scare with fire.  I see my brother’s charred body running in a forest...they are after me.  My brother runs...and runs.  He is petrified...then rendered brittle and crumbles.  His body scatters and is carried away by the west winds.  The elder wind of the east blows its word in my ear, “When the stars align with the three gates YOU MUST, you must gather up his ashes, stir him as molten, and resurrect the corner stone.  Oh Daughter of Nehemiah, fear encamps about you.  I give you my word of power...SHABAK.”  Its last utterance echoes.  As I run I wonder...If there is no one there to hear me scream among the standing dry rot does it make a sound? 


I am now here in a lair.   Each corner is filled to the brim with cheap California cigars, Freshman's concave footballs, and cut out hearts made from the pressed pulp of pews.  Each ninety degree angle is cluttered with things.  The windows are covered by something red and the doors are whitewashed shut. The something red looks soft but when I make an attempt to push it aside the lead-heaviness nearly consumes me.  I long for the sun to kiss the center of my forehead.  My head feels cold.  I try again to uncover the windows but the air inside is stuffy and thick like smoke.  I am unable to draw in ether, a wisp of life to prevent my knees from buckling under the work.  I waver and collapse against the something red.  Surrender proves to be the action needed to bring on the shift like the tumble of the first domino. Only a sliver of light is invited to pierce the air inside.  I grab hold of it, pull it to my nose, and I breathe in.  I can see inside myself.  I watch the bronchi of my lungs turn from an inflamed green to a free flowing gold.  And I breathe out, my belly deflates.  A child is born.  A child is born.  A child is born. The gurgling whisper returns, “The age of alignment has come.”  I awake, sit up as a throne and shout with a guttural cry...


SHABAK   

  
  
Do You Remember
Back In The Spring
Every Morning Birds Would Sing
Do You Remember
Those Special Times
They'll Just Go On And On
In The Back Of My Mind
Do You Remember The Time

~Thank you, Michael