Thursday, March 22, 2012
The heart moves like a winged bird- white fluff that dances on the water of the lake. A smooth wind takes it, transforming it into the magic of light and moistened clouds ready to spurt their seed.
There is a man in the clouds, tall and dark and outlined in the golden rays of the sun nearing dusk. A bright burst moves across the sky, fervent in its need to explode outward.
End and beginning are the same. It goes without thought, without any implied intent. It is movement without rationality. Words without meaning.
Their beauty is easy to read, the light easy to spot and wish upon, but there is no reason. No man in the clouds that makes the stars twinkle.
The sand is a bad place for a head- take it out and behold the blackness of space, the limitless that cannot be understood.
It is not for you to comprehend, it may not be for you to know.
Shopping carts and diapers, packed stadiums of hungry onlookers, waiting for a preacher to deliver the message of god. We are a pack of wolves and the body wants the taste of flesh.
Each prayer is an invitation to death, open the book and begin to sing.
What is it that you desire? Maybe the clouds will give it to you, maybe the idol of stone will speak, maybe the invisible which cannot be proven by any measure will dance.
Is the stain on the tortilla enough? The bush that burns? The fluttering heart that can only be described as a whisper?
Sit in the temples, rise and fall at the command of the man dressed in white. Do it because you are told, do it for the children. Do it because everyone else does.
They will mark your house with stones, the windows will be broken, the lawn dug for your grave. There is no choice here, not in this country of laws, not in these places of worship.
Thought is for the heathens, questions are for the devil.
There is only one path and it has already been decided- not by you, but the people before you. The way is cleared, swept by slaves and those already condemned to death, they wait in cages until the flames rise with the call of the chosen.
Your dress will be torn when we arrive, your lips will be chapped, you will be thirsty, prepare for the voyage and bring the book.