Becoming What Is Not

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

Photo Challenge — Blur

Rain has blurred the background of this image, shot from my back porch in May of 2014.

I wanted to capture the spill from a corner roof gutter, while allowing the heaviness of the rain to also be apparent.

Raining  ⓒBearspawprint2014 2014-05-29

Raining ⓒBearspawprint2014 2014-05-29

William Commanda and the Seven Fires Prophecy

Masqua's Art

2008_0125Submission0002

William Commanda – November 11, 1913 to August 3, 2011.

http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/story/2011/08/03/f-william-commanda-algonquin-elder.html

No person ever has, nor likely ever will, have a greater impact on the way I look at life and act in it than this wonderful man. His journey is notable in so many ways, I’m not going to mention all of his accomplishments since a few clicks of the mouse will give credence to that. I hope a few of those who read this will take the little time needed. He is ALL OVER the internet and I was lucky enough to have known him in his sunset days.

speaker
Presenting a painting and speech.

I first met Grandfather Commanda after hearing about the Seven Prophets of the Seven Fires Prophecy Belt of which, in 2006, he was the holder.

Willam Commanda

Here is the link to the prophecy itself:
http://www.wabanaki.com/seven_fires_prophecy.htm

So what was it about the prophecy belt which interested…

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Smuggled Out: Most Timbuktu Manuscripts Saved from Attacks

Family Survival Protocol - Microcosm News

A museum guard with boxes of ancient manuscripts partially damaged by Islamists in Timbuktu in January. Zoom
REUTERS

A museum guard with boxes of ancient manuscripts partially damaged by Islamists in Timbuktu in January.

More than 80 percent of Timbuktu’s priceless manuscripts were smuggled out of the ancient city before Islamists began to attack its cultural heritage, SPIEGEL has learned. Many were driven by car to the Malian capital of Bamako.

Far more of Timbuktu’s priceless ancient manuscripts were saved from Islamist attacks than previosly thought, according to information from the German Foreign Ministry.

 

ANZEIGE

More than 200,000 of the documents, or about 80 percent of them, were smuggled to safety, says the ministry, which aided in the operation.

The ministry said many of the manuscripts, some of which date back to the 13th century, were driven out of Timbuktu in private vehicles and taken to the Malian capital, Bamako. Some of them were hidden under lettuce and fruit in an operation led by the head…

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