Exploring the Human Condition: altered states of consciousness

Posts tagged ‘prose’


Of Heretherebespiders fame…

I Need

I need to howl. Like a lonely dog. Like a wolf looking for her pack.

I’m sitting outside, it is cold, it is breezy. Some of my fingers have turned white, bloodless, from the lack of circulation.

I don’t want to go inside.

I tilt my head to the sky. The black, moonless sky. There are only two stars strong enough, bright enough, to shimmer in the black.

Head back, looking up, throat exposed stretched grasping I feel the need to howl. To howl loud and long. Howl for the pain and the frustration.

I can not. I have neighbours who would not understand, would not appreciate my song of loss.

I bottle it in, again, still, until.

A few nights ago, sitting alone under a deep black sky full of bright stars, I felt a connectedness with someone, it was in my throat and my upper chest. I did not know who, or what, I might have thought I felt, or why, but I had one of those simple moments when the obvious stands out, and you go, “oh, that’s what it is…”

We are part and parcel of a great and ancient consciousness. And inherent inside each and every one of us, is the need to know. I firmly believe that it is a driving force of human nature, something that can never be denied. I have much gratitude to be alive and able to experience the unending source of information right here at my fingertips anytime I seek answers. But the magic really happens when something alive and raw, real and compelling, emerges naturally through this same usually flat and one-dimensional screen.

I do not know why the lovely and highly interesting Erynne in Ireland was so sad that night. But in her honest and very beautiful prose, there was an unexpected connectedness I immediately recognized. I have felt that very same way, more than once, I am sure. I felt her loss, I felt her pain. I felt like running to the top of the old drive-way on the backroad where a true portal exists above the railroad tracks, and raise my voice into the darkness, into the clouds with her.

Well, maybe I’ve been around animals far more than humans, or maybe when things get really tough, we all want to go back to our place, our real beginnings… or maybe our cries are joined in a chorus of angels that want nothing more than to lift us up from this sometimes dreadful place… I cannot say, but I was so struck by reading Erynne’s sweet song, of distress and despair, that in that knowing, that sharing, I found understanding, and strongly felt this connection.

It is not natural to hold in grief, nor is it a good idea for too long. We must let it in, and accept it. It does get better, never cured, but usually the need to know is met with some acceptance and understanding. Or maybe we never understand everything. But I find much solace just knowing that we all have these moments. We are all connected, everyone, and the journey can be long and hard. But even so, I am really really glad to have this chance, to know.

Last Prose & Testament

A lovely intoxicating rolling African melody sung by only men, cascades through my happy narcotic sensor/receptors…  🙂  like some friendly ancient sea vessel, filled to her brim with lusty lads and the innocent…  her sails tight and the particular motion forward like something secure and familiar, an irrefutable energy all its own, with frightening power beyond my imagination…

Last Prose and Testament – “Pictures of my Heart”

Before my time of final breath, I hereby give up my heart and my blood that my bones doth lay hidden by grace of my Lord, my God, in the boughs and flowers nestled in ancient arms, you are, and I am now sure of this one true thing simply, because it cannot be denied.  I believe in magic. The only good and true force that joins our hearts and our voices in kind; as we hold each other by the shoulder, so are we held.  Our faces shine bright, and we are young.  We are strong as we stride down the face of the hillside, and women sing and children run behind, and we rejoice!  Your soul can see! “ These are the pictures of my heart. (flash fade audio…  happy men singing!!!).

She has an unexpected cleverness.  Everything else could be explained.  Oh God, that old sweet music, telling stories, our lives like little trinkets, spoils for the victor, all chained around her neck…

The most beautiful pictures of my heart…   I dare never share, lest some power much greater than me be captured as I was, and my little child grown before me, should disappear without a trace, like some lifting fog over calm deep waters…  I am very grateful.  This is all I ever wanted, and I am so busy just looking at everything, trying to take it all in, not to miss one single thing that I could remember, to later speak again, that I have justly rested, landed, I think, and this new quiet haunts me…

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