Becoming What Is Not

.
.
While tracking
My star,
Across the sky
Towards the west,
Following color
Streaks,
And the
Blackest
Deep,
Succumbing,
I closed
My eyes
Just for
A moment,
To rest,
So tired,
So weary was
This human flesh.
Then opened,
Startled
Awake.
The cosmos
Lurched,
A small
Gap.
My eyes,
Opened wide,
Saw the world
Had moved over
And I had not.
The ground
Was no longer
The same ground.
Red clay
Had become shale,
Sliding and unstable,
Mountains
And foothills
Pulled themselves
From beneath my feet.
I jumped and ran
But could not catch
Anything solid.
Nothing of
Substance,
Nothing
Of honor,
No truth,
What had been
Became what was not.
What would be,
Became,
What is never.
Running and
Running,
As soon
As my feet
Would feel,
Some surface,
And pause,
Only
An instant,
Only to orient,
To take
A direction
Reading,
Solid became
Liquid
And mud became mist.
I sank,
Clawing at
Words slipping
Away as breath,
As fog,
As illusion
Forcing me
To leap and
Prong, and
Fly dancing
In pursuit
Of the reality
That had gone,
Leaving my perceptions
Blinded by
Streaming tears,
My song unheard
In anguished echoes,
No meaning
But a garble of loss.
The old people
I knew,
Became new people
With different lives,
New relationships,
That I never
Dreamed in
The dreaming worlds,
Never touched
In the
Waking worlds,
These new worlds,
New beings,
Had been
Building
Themselves,
Generating
Shimmering surfaces
Only as approached,
Dissolving
When out of sight,
Described
With new languages
Of no meaning,
No feeling,
Only confusion,
A chaos new faces,
Grown older,
Grown different,
New ideas,
Translated fantasies,
Spoken in
Gibberish,
And I was
Spinning.
As each thought
Passed by me,
Tweaking my
Body,
Nudging me
To turn
A little,
To turn my head,
To my memory,
Turn and turn,
Turn my heart,
And a turn
A little
More, and
Turn more,
Faster and faster,
Until I became
A plasma wind
Spinning
In place
While all that
I knew,
As comfort,
As familiar,
As love,
Whirled around,
My spinning
Life,
My whirling death,
Dancing away
On a receding tide
Of regret.
I ran and
Ran dancing,
Crying for
Mercy,
Circling the
Abyss,
The deepest
Well of yesterdays,
Of lost
Tomorrows,
Dark shadows
Of never to be.
Spinning
Light,
Spinning
Plasma,
Hot,
Melted light,
Between what was
And what
Had now
Become
What is not.
My hair
Flew out
From my
Whirling head,
Each individual
Hair a voice
Screaming and
Whistling,
Calling spirit
Back
Into myself,
To become
All one
With the nothing
Of no hope.
I whirl,
One hand
Raised,
Open
To the vastness
That is beyond
The knowable
Seven Skies;
One hand,
Gentle across
My own
Beating heart,
And I turn,
And turn,
And I turn.
.
.
Bear … 11.15.2015
ⓒBearspawprint2015
.
.

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One comment on “Becoming What Is Not

  1. Intriguing and enveloping, Bear! 🙂 ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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