They’re at it again in there–
getting organized so
no one gets hurt once
that one drummer we all love
catches hold of a comet
in each hand
and starts hanging on for dear life.
He’s the one the elephants
still remember from
the last world that went south,
who appears in stories kept alive
in their great ribbed vaults,
where his memory ages with each migration
into the delicate musk of ancestry and power.
They’re at it again in there–
the rollicking band of baby minotaurs
and the off-duty angels,
the men wrought from fire and clay
and the women who remember
they all gave birth to saviors–
parading in circles
around the center of my chest,
orbiting ash-pile plantations of fallen stars
and rainbow-terminus dreams
cordoned off by sinew lashings
hung with dog tags and neck-ties,
each point of contact hidden inside
a maze of asphalt-paved pedestrian crossings
and yellow-enameled walk signals
beaming instructions in every direction.
The land between is silted with mystery book pages
and discarded assembly instructions,
patrolled by an ornery castle guard
with beards as long as winters
who’ve been entangled
with my deepest fears
about volunteering myself,
without limits or qualifications,
to a life of simple meaning.
They draw swords and mumble painfully
from beneath their diaphragms
every time a minotaur calf even looks their way.
Everything in there
is on the move again, rallying,
catching one another’s tears
in small glass bottles and leather skins,
hurling spears straight out of existence,
circling round through the smoke
rising off the ash piles,
and materializing from the edges
that wobble with the drumming of caught comets
to lend their support
to the pleasant discussion
Jesus is having with the well-dressed man
seated on the folding chair
placed at the door to my heart,
with his one leg folded across the other,
who’s holding the key in his pocket.
The seated man thinks it’s a power.
He thinks all this is somehow
to do with the office he holds–
that it’s the only reason
he’s still alive.
He doesn’t realize that key of his
is just a pebble
he picked up from the ground
the day he made this game up,
or that the man he’s speaking to
was also once shattered into
a whirl of vacant powers,
before he gave his stone away
to the quiet one before him.
The man in the folding chair
simply doesn’t realize the enormity
of what can come
from the simple choice
to let the stones
be stones.
Embracing Forever 
A great story with bits of Oz, Rumi, Zepplin and more I forget. Where did my stone go? Thanks for the whimsical and mystic ride Michael. 🙂
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Your quite welcome, Brad. Ha! I had a few Oz books I used to read the covers off of when I was in first and second grade. Rinktink in Oz and Glinda of Oz are two I remember. Those little stones are something else, aren’t they!?
Peace
Michael
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I know when to surrender to the master. Peace out!
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Peace out, Brad. Baum was awesome wasn’t he!?
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wonderful soundtrack playing
in my version
of this
foreign film 🙂
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🙂
There is some interesting scenery in these foreign lands, though none, I suspect, that quite rival the view from the state of communion…
Michael
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This took me on a pleasant journey, for me, you tapped into how powerful the narrative is, or simply put story telling – in learning and understanding. I might be a bit in left field with that, but that’s where I ended up – and hoping that no one hits the ball in my direction….but you know what, it’s OK if they do. Peace, Harlon
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ha! I love your wry comments Harlon. I wrote a piece a few days ago about a couple of cops that show up on the doorstep because they hear there’s too much story-telling going on and not quite enough proper poetry… I won’t spoil the story… 🙂 But yes, there’s a certain power in moving from A to B… understanding the magic that takes us from where we thought we were, to where we truly are…
Peace!
Michael
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I’m not sure, but I think the man with the key/pebble is the ego…? It doesn’t matter if I am correct… I love this poem!
‘Everything in there
is on the move again, rallying,
catching one another’s tears
in small glass bottles and leather skins,
hurling spears straight out of existence,’
Love love love these lines!! Love your brilliant mind that conjures these images and converts them into words so that we are able to convert them back into images in our minds!! Beautiful!!! Hope everything is going super well, Michael! ♡
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Hi Lorrie,
Yes, the ego… the strange idea of withholding, of separateness, of thinking existence depends on making a ripple in the stream that others have to react to… I’m glad you enjoyed the images here. I struggled my way through this one, to be honest, but like so many things if you keep at it there’s always at least some redeeming element to what shows up…
All is well, and I hope it is well on your end also.
Blessings
Michael
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Oh…I’ve no doubt that if we stay at things long enough there will be a ‘redeeming element,’ and I know you have never disappointed, my friend!! I am well and exactly where I am meant to be 😉 Blessings, Michael!
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🙂
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Strangely the heart knows and yet partakes in this eternal fiesta of confusion with the distractions that the well-dressed delusional crew provides from a life of simple meaning. The seated man knows that the stone is a stone I feel, if only he could untie the knot of fear that holds back! The last two paragraphs really spoke to me Michael. Wish you a peaceful week!
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Hi PR,
I love that line “eternal fiesta of confusion”! You’re right of course… it is the doubt and the fear which keep things unable to settle back into unity. It is simple, but only if we let it be, no? The realization that so much more awaits the surrender of the key– the giving up of the false ideal– is a meditation all of its own. It’s like we have to build up to the realization that we can let go of what we think is holding it all together, and then somehow as it falls apart, we’ll gain all we truly desire and need…
Wishing you a lovely week as well!
Michael
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Whoops! – forgot to comment – too busy hanging on to a comet. 😉
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Ha! Enjoy the ride, my friend!
Peace
Michael
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I don’t know how to comment either Michael ! Stunning , so extremely stunning ! I love your radiant work ….it makes an awe inspiring difference in my life ..I am enthralled with gratefulness and love ….love , megxxx
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Hi Meg,
Thank you for this. Making a difference in lives… it seems to be what we’re doing here together, and it is so very joyous to be a participant in the exchange. I felt the last two pieces I was fishing and I didn’t quite find it, but I’m glad there was something that spoke to you. This is always the way, isn’t it? We doubt sometimes what others see truly. The gift is in the exchange anyway– the seeing beyond the words to what is coming into the world through and between us…
Love–
Michael
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Thank you for the magical journey, caught somewhere in clouds of depth and simplicity lay the light of a vision unheralded. Truly a masterpiece and so very enjoyable Michael . Peace and blessings, Kim
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Thank you, Kim. Much appreciated. I love your line of “a vision unheralded” for it seems truly that insights arise as if from nowhere. Suddenly, our understanding shifts, is lifted– the pieces come into place. We are calm, even though the wind is still blowing…
Blessings to you also,
Michael
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The magic and mystery, the wonder and glory…I love the contrasts in life, makes it always something to look forward to each day. 😊 k
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Well I must say it took two readings to get it, but then I chuckled. The man in the suit thinks he’s the orchestrator, of it all, and the one in charge. Chuckle. Poor delusional mind-made self and the wild roller-coaster havoc it gives rise to. Fun! Jesus doesn’t mind. No one minds. Only the man in the suit. Until he discovers his key is a pebble, and the he doesn’t even exist. 🙂
Alison xox
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PS Forgot to say – brilliant as usual!
A.
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Thank you, Alison. Yes, that poor, smart man at the center… the only one who minds… 🙂
This thing about existence is always tripping me up. Like, I imagine when he gives up the key he will be rejoined with the minotaurs, the ends of the rainbows, and the fallen stars, and something altogether new will be whirling around the center. It will not be what was exactly, but nor will it be made of anything that wasn’t already there…
Peace
Michael
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Really wonderful. You’re one of the few writers I’ve found on WordPress that can (even with the longer pieces) conjure up a poem that keeps me begging for more as I read. The last stanza was my favorite:
The man in the folding chair
simply doesn’t realize the enormity
of what can come
from the simple choice
to let the stones
be stones.
Peace and love,
RJ
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Thank you very much, RJ. I’m humbled by your compliment, and grateful for your presence here. And I don’t think I would have hit publish on this one if I hadn’t scavenged those last lines from the nets I was dragging through the sky… There is such power in simply seeing things as they are…
Blessings,
In Gratitude
Michael
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