Nov 16, 2014
There is no moon
I fight my way up out of sleep.
It is 3:33 am.
My body is ringing with buzzing, discordant energies
In a daze, I'm led by my nameless Svengali
I swing my feet off the bed & feel loose earth beneath my bare feet
I glance down
The ground in my room is covered in brittle dead leaves
They whisper, they sigh, they mutter
Their language is unintelligible -- just beneath the radar of my ken
The door to the hallway swings open
The inky void awaits
My heart bangs uncertainly against my ribs
It's in my mouth & head
I step over the threshold
My senses adjust
There is a faint green fluorescence
It glows, It grows
Intimidatingly & Impossibly fecund
They are singing their ancient siren song
Hundreds of tiny Pitcher plants & Orchids
Row upon row in battle formation
Like crosses @ the cemetery in Arlington, VA
I step gingerly
Unnaturally green, young tendrils gleefully shoot with impossible velocity
Encircling my ankles, spiraling up my calves & thighs
I struggle against them
Against their insistent call & response song to my body
My efforts & forward motion are slow
Finally these Lilliputian strands recoil
With a metallic whiplash zinging
They leave tiny, angry welts on my tender skin
I reach for the knob to the front door
But the door is missing
There are no boundaries -- no barriers
I step into the night, naked
As I do, the sky illuminates the porch
A tremendous flash of lightening & deafening clap of thunder
The rain is torrential
Water is streaming down the sidewalk, racing over my feet
In the gutters garbage is driven to the sea to join other garbage
Water is sheeting through my hair, pelting my body
Water is washing, washing
An Enigma Code
Drumming against my face
High-hatting my deaf ears, blinding my eyes
It's telling me True things
It percolates through my gravel, funneling down the strata
To the Still Ocean
I squint against it & look down in awe
I'm walking on it. What force is at work here?
I do not know this street
Red Neon flop-house signs blink down & reflect off my skin
They hum & buzz
I know this yet I cannot hear it
Like an M.C. Escher drawing
A maze of black fire-escapes loom ironly overhead
I pass a dive bar
A Blarney Stone
Crazy, sad laughter issues from the doorway
An old Wurlitzer grinds out a scratchy 'Roadhouse Blues'
I cross the intersection
There are no cars
The streetlights are tired, barely radiating their faint yellow
The stoplights are bewildered @ their purposelessness
Red, orange, green..waiting, waiting
I see a sign through the murk
I'm in NYC
In the distance, I see the faint glow of fire
(How can this be so in the storm?)
I approach this beacon
Seeking it's warmth
I walk on & on but don't seem to get any closer
I walk for hours, for miles
I look up & suddenly find that I've arrived.
It's a bonfire flickering in a grated trashcan
Across it's rim I see a crouched figure in a ski cap
It looks up.
It's a young, waif-like girl with an impossibly wizened face
She stares at me, her eyes glittering, willing me not to look away
I'm mesmerized & distinctly uneasy
I stand directly before her & slowly, with dread fascination, meet those eyes.
I recognize myself.
She reaches into her strange garment & pulls out a piece of paper
She extends her arm & silently proffers it.
It glows in the firelight.
I stare at it -- a deer in headlights.
She nods her head once without breaking eye contact.
She shakes her extended arm insistently.
Steeling myself, I reach out to take it in the searing rain
It is covered in close script.
Just as my fingertips grasp it,
The blue fountain pen ink smears & runs off it in garbled waves
The rivulets dripping to the ground, flowing to the gutter, back to the sea
To the Belly.
To reunite with the Mother & the Beast.
I look to the side & see a huge dark looming shape
I'm at the base of a massive hillside girded by a medieval stone wall
I realize with a start that I'm standing below Edinburgh Castle.
I'm on Princes street
Man, that was a long walk, I think to myself.
I turn, 365 degrees -- searching. The figure @ the fire is nowhere to be seen
There are others, though
Rushing to & fro, about their mysterious nightly missions
They are transparent
They pass me but do not see me.
I recognize some of them
I gladly open my mouth in greeting
but shut it @ the futility
We are not here
The rain redoubles
The wind picks up
The ghosts are bent forwards struggling against it
I hear the rising song of the headwinds
The street is suddenly empty
Even the ghosts are gone
The winds are eddying around me, swirling
The centrifugal force increases by geometric proportions
I'm the storm
Then torn apart
A billion dedicated atoms
Earth, Water, Fire, Wind
They waft in parallel
Are drawn together, irresistibly
I'm sure to find out
back here in Boston
Good Morning World :)