The One - Third Movement: Remembering - Song 13: A Mind Undarkened - Segment I

 

THIRD MOVEMENT

 REMEMBERING

SONG THIRTEEN

A MIND UNDARKENED

 

I

 

“The sea smells of sharks,” says an old woman staring from shore.

“They know when you’re coming. They scent your blood

  and they live to slash and scatter you red in the blue flood.”

 

“I have been at sea,” I say to the crone

“I know the deep waves, the sharks’ hunger for bone.

  Sometimes there is simply nowhere else to be

  but wind-bellying the sails against the sea.”

 

“But you search for True North?” she asks with a squint

“A place spun of dream that cannot be found

  that leads you to doldrums and running aground.”

 

“It is true what you say.

 Just now, I’ve come here as I tried to tack North

  but instead, the wind on my nose

  forced a long run for this broad-flung bay

 against the tide as the ice-moon rose

  pushing against the flow

 riding the current out wide.”

 

We stand staring out from the islanded coast

steep cliff-bordered and sea breath ghost-cold

Close overhead the unruffled flight of owl wings

circling the drafts up the cliffs, trailing ice-moon rings

And down from the cliffs flows sand, cold and white

tiny suns through an hourglass marking the night

 

Soundless, steady, ruthless stream

relentlessly presses toward True North dreams

 

Walking the sea-edge

                        I listen for first-voice

                        the sound of first-words

                        foaming in from the vastness onto this shore

Listening to sea-voice

                        I hear no words in the seething froth

                        no words at all

                        sounding from indifferent waves

 

 

“What is wrong?” I ask myself

            as suddenly I stop all believing

All that I am, all that I know

            breaks to nothing on this bony shore

            like a great sea ship ground into sand

            while the grains sift through the glass again

 

 

“Why do I feel no pain?” I ask a second self

            as suddenly hope disappears and expectation flees

            and all my memories seem intent on dismembering me

            Yet I feel no threat, only curiosity

            where once answers swirled up, only questions remain

            answered by more questions that sound the same

 

“Why don’t I rest?” I ask within

            as suddenly I see I am beginning again

            with only this pointless, fallible compass to guide 

            But least I am headed away from the lies

                        . . .        I think               . . .

            but of this I’m not even sure

            In truth, all that’s left is wanting “the more”

 

 

Walking the sea-edge

            dawn light begins to finger the sand

Far down the coast I see someone stand

            to face the sun, raising hands to the sky

I pick up my pace.  I must know why.

 

 

Nearing the figure, I see an old man

            now squatting, relieving himself in the damp morning sand

He knows I am there but continues his pace

            letting the smoldering sun warm his wrinkled face

His gray hair is long; his skin is bronze

            and a long, lose-fitted shirt is all he has on

            

 

Oblivious to me

            he strides to the edge of the water

            washes himself    then dries in the breeze

It’s all so natural it makes me laugh

            as I watch this old man take his morning bath

Even my mirth fails to shift his gaze

            as he intently observes the morning sea haze

 

 

“What do you see?” I am surprised when I ask.

            The words slide out of my mouth like a snake

            but I’m not sorry, so no apologies make

“Where is it you look?” I reset my tone

            and I know I am heard so this time I wait

            (I can almost hear the sound of a gate

                        opening on hinges ancient and thick)

            and as he turns to regard me, I begin to be sick

wretching on sea edge until I think I will die

                        unsure why seasickness has struck me on land

When I am finished, the old man pats my back with his hand

 

 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he tilts his head and smiles

“In fact, I’ve been waiting for quite a long while.

 So, don’t act so surprised at finding me

            squatting in sand by this laughing sea.”

 

 

“Laughing sea?” I challenge and frown.

“I’ve heard no laughter –  not a single sound.”

 

“Ah, then you have not been listening,” he points one finger at me.

  There is no one speaks so loud as this babbling sea.”

 

“I swear I hear nothing,” I try to explain

            but the wind proves me wrong as it sweeps in dark rain

 

“Come with me!” shouts the man as gray hair whips his face.

“You came here to find it, so I’ll show you the place.” 

 

 

Needing no answer, he turns to go

and quickly I follow for reasons unknown

straight up the cliffs he clambers with ease

Behind him, I struggle, more than once on my knees

 

 

“He’s some kind of rodent,” I say to myself

 

“No I’m not,” he shouts. “Just in far better health.”

 

“I’ll have to quiet my thoughts,” I think silently.

 

“Don’t bother,” he shouts.  “There are no secrets with me.”

 

 

So I cling to the cliff as I scrabble and claw

Finally reaching the top, I look down with awe.

There is no way from there to here but to fly

yet I’ve summited with him without asking why

Astride the great cliffs, I turn my back to the sea

and face a great desert     --  stretching gold against sky

 

 

“This is my place,” the old One whispers to me

There is love in his voice rising from years

spent alone here with no witness to tears

or laughter, or hardship, no one to praise or disdain

A life lived by desert and sea in heat, drought and rain. . .

 

“Stop that!” he chides me

“I’m no desert-drunk saint – just an old man you found on the beach

-- a man and no more – not a ghost out of reach.”

 

 

With this he turns and walks toward the dunes

Small eddies of sand follow him like smoke amid ruins

For hours we walk into the desert’s ringing heart

and as the heat rises, I begin to wonder how smart

I have been to follow this mad man – devil or saint

With no water since the night before, I begin to feel faint

 

 

“Stop that!” he warns me, no smile in his voice.

“You pity yourself, but there is no one to hear.”

And he grabs my shoulder and pulls me down near

to the sand 

His grasp holds me close to the dirt as  he digs 

with his left, free hand

 

I peer into the sand

            he unearths small moist button-like lumps 

            and puts them to the side of the hole

Ten, then twenty surface sifted through his hand

He gathers them up and leads me to an arroyo washed clean

by a fast-running, clear, but unlikely, stream

 

 

“Rest for a moment,” he seems to relent

“This place is ours for a time.  It has been sent

            to make your journey less painful, more clear

and he hands me a button-like fruit

 

            “Eat it. Right now.  Right here.”

 

 

 

 

 

A  crackling electric wind twists into a black funnel

and in an instant sucks me deep and blind

My ashen bones snap and scatter sticking out 

the black cloud like erupted pale and dusty spikes

Twelve large black wolves wrap my sinew in their teeth

and in the next instant pull my bones in rows 

as straight and green as corn

I throw my head back, laughing crazy

wind streaking lightning from my hair

and howl the life back to my bones

in a flashing stew of long-bones, blood and hair

whirled into a stream of cascading light

I howl my molten  bones alive again

My hands and feet painted red and black

I dance a lusty sweaty fury and in the midst of chant and  rhythm

coyote steps softly into the ring of light and asks,

“Do you want to send this teacher back?”

 

 

 

“No!” I roar and “No!” again

Coyote steps back and lowers his head

then pounces again into the light

“Then run with me!” he yelps and turns

and I lope behind on all fours running with him

Ten more coyotes join us stretching out across the sand

tongues lolling pink and thick, fur rippled waves of gray and tan

paws thudding sprays of gold-flecked sand

Running in the body that never lacks for breath

no limit to this body and no end to its breath

Among the many is the one

and all there is is the long desert run

 

 

Coyotes veer off toward the sun

small puffs of smoke disappearing fast

I run on two feet again and though I am left behind

smoke and flame rise from my tracks

like a hologram of melded light and heat that sears

and leaves me longing for the creatures who have passed so near

 

 

 

 

 

 

            Between half-closed lids I see the old man sitting

            rocking slowly, face toward the sun’s last slender beams

            I feel sick again and weak           and unsure if

 he is real or dream

            or both or none 

or something in between

 

            I am not dead.  I am not hurt.  

            But I am shaken 

suspended somewhere between sky and dirt

            I stand slowly.  He turns to look at me

            As if I’ve just come upon him, I drop to my knees

            With gentle hands, he helps me up, leads me down arroyo path

            and turns into a cairn of riven boulders – a narrow crevice pass

            that opens into a dry cool cave 

            with desert winds crashing against it wave on wave

 

 

            I lie down again and pillow my head on rock

            not quite here and not quite there

            lying longing in between – breathing dusty air

 

                        “You must go with these others of your kind,”

                        the old One whispers in my ear

                        “You must follow or you will be left behind.”

 

 

 

            I can only turn my head to see his face

            I have no words to answer now

            His look is kind and I see he knows

            the desert run and where it goes

 

 

                        “Sleep now, if you can,” he says

                        and from somewhere pulls a blanket over my head

                        “Sleep and see the dream that shows the way

                                    to see the desert that is the sea.”