Swept Away....

i feel asleep with the light on,

i awoke and it was dark

but i knew something was amiss.

i could see the glow as you frantically checked your phone

and tried to hide the checking

how strange the things we try to hide end up revealing that there was something to hide.

how do you like that?

it was an unsung sunday

callous with misgivings

bringing information to a point of fulfillment

already fulfilled she said, over her shoulder as she turned away

so there is nothing more to do!

the garden moves on,

the season's change brings new seeds,

an empty husk that shakes in the wind

has no power

but to make noise,

like a death rattle,

after an entire season's turn,

and all that exists from such sweet blossoms

is the shaking of an empty husk.

how do you like that?

so we let go of that season,

proper endings

become welcome greetings, seeding, being,

and love lifts us round again like the hands of children swinging streamers round the may pole,

the woven garland around an upright shaft,

round, round, may this one fly and not hit the ground!!

ash to ash!

we all fall down.

so she listened as that one crow tried to clear his voice

he was calling to her, to the world

to the sway of the garden on this new day

all shall be swept away.... swept away

The Crossroads

She put her hand in her leather jacket pocket. There was sand inside the worn cloth, and tiny shells from the beach. The beach seemed like lifetimes ago. Another person, another woman, had lived that day. That woman had been carefree and tumbling forward towards something sweet and grand. She had been worried about the wind uncurling her sprayed hair, and the sun ruining her complexion.

She placed one foot in front of the other. It was a long road, thru fields of waving grass. Each blade shuddered as the wind tickled it, whispering in a soft and reedy voice.

How circumstance had changed everything.

Her ears were open now, and could hear this subtle chorus. Her soul had been ripped free of its own noise, and now that she was quiet inside, the world was loud and full of meaning.

What answers could I really hope for? Hope was something that other woman had entertained. Now, I just place one foot in front of the other, and listen to the prairie. The flat road crunched under her feet. Mostly she walked on fine dirt, the gravel having long since dissipated from the lack of upkeep. Very few people found themselves on this road. Most just trickled their lives away, trifling distractions leading them away from the finality of a true decision.

She could see the Crossroads ahead. Beyond it was a big storm, rolling low and slow down the prairie. She could smell the moisture, as it mixed with pressure, dust and ozone. The air crackled, the wind panted, slight gusts cutting into the moments of still, low hanging air.

She knew this meant that he was coming. The storm, the pressure, the tension she felt trying to grab hold of her. Her attention fell to the simple sound her body made as it moved forward, this step, then that step.

There is no right answer. Destiny meets free will, and choice spreads out in every direction. Choice meets you at the crossroads. She knew how the crossroads worked. Once you began approaching it, you had better look deep into your heart. There was only this one time to decide, and then life would move forward down its path, enveloping you in the chorus of your new life. But that new life would never hold these choices again.

So she listened to her heart. She let the little girl bubble up, a quick rapture of glee in the face of a cold, hard road. How we become fractured, she thought as she inhaled the heavy air. Different pieces of me, all there, but split apart, light thru a prism.

And then she thought of him. When it was simple, on that beach. It was a gentle laughter she remembered. A simple feeling. There was no choice, just a natural movement forward between them. He laughed, she laughed. And they ate, and drank, and looked forward to a naïve and bright future.

A sigh slipped out. For today was a different day. Time had passed, and things had been unveiled. No more was it simple and natural and obvious. Now life was heavy with decisions, skepticism, doubt, fear, self-loathing and a storm was coming.

She could see his silhouette walking ahead of the gathering storm. Dust devils swirled around him. He was wearing a trench coat, which seemed odd, out of place for some reason. She found herself wondering if this was the same man, or if he had hired someone to take his place.

It was a strange thought, and made no sense. Of course he had to come, himself. That was the way this always worked. Even if he was unaware, and didn’t see the crossroads, he still had to make his own choice.

Her stomach churned, she knew that the decision was his first, and she didn’t like that. She worried that he would make the wrong one, and this chance would slip away, down different paths, different lifetimes. Her choice would come after his.

It wasn’t very far now. The plains were flat, and distance was longer than it seemed, but she could see his shoulders shrugging forward in determination with each swinging stride. The lighting struck out at the clouds, sending fingers of electricity into the looming bellows.

She tried to stop walking, slowing her feet in smaller increments, a sad foreboding stalling her will. Time would not let her stop, and her feet had a momentum of their own. Get it over with, they seemed to say.

“But I feel like that storm, deep in my soul, roiling and tumbling towards oblivion!”

“It won’t be as bad as it seems,” her feet whispered. “At the very least, this will all be over soon.”

These words did not help. The crossroads was a place for dead bodies, it seemed. This was the place they hung people, where you died for your sins. This was not a place of forgiveness, this was a place where life was forever altered, and everything could be lost.

With this thought, she could smell the sweet, sick odor of death. She knew the bodies of the unforgiven lay here, somewhere hidden in the thick prairie grasses. She knew their souls had been ripped from life, and sent down a new road. Bodies left behind.

Many people were nothing but ghosts after coming here. Anyone could become a corpse, leaving this moment separated from all that they were, and all that they had dreamed of being. Forever to wander a hungry ghost lost in this barren prairie.

Choices. Everything came down to that one moment.

Out of the sickness, and the death, the wind, and out of her fear, she stepped into the place where lines of life intersected.

He had arrived before her.

He stood in the crossroads, his trench coat snapping in gusts of air.

The world took a big inhale.

She tasted rust.

“So…?” she said looking into the shadows that were his face.

He looked at her; he seemed to be distilling every ounce of intensity he had into his words.

“You are an amazing person, profound, you have touched me in ways that no one has ever touched me.”

In the distance behind him she saw scenes of tenderness take shape out of the rolling storm clouds. The dark red-green hue of electrified water vapor formed a gentle caress. Yet, one had the feeling of a goodbye, of something growing distant and small. She felt a coldness begin to settle in her heart, a tightness, as if she was bracing herself. She let this pass, determined to form no resistance to the truth that came out here.

The shadows on his face took a deeper hue, and his eyes flashed, as if he was feeling the very apparition she saw in the turbulent storm front behind him.

“You know I didn’t come here for you to tell me what I am. I came here for you to tell me what is in your heart.” She took a deep inhale, and steadied her gaze on the shifting shadows that his face had become. She noticed the gusts of wind swirling around them, stealing the heat from against her body. Inside she felt a strange numbness, and waves of heat and nausea. Her body was affected by this interaction like a seasick person. She could already feel her spirit loosening and her body welcoming separation like a corpse lost at sea.

She quickened her resolve, and tasted the blood where she was biting her lip.

“We will always be friends. Right now I am overwhelmed with everything.”

When his words found her ears, her mind remembered every light hearted promise, suddenly knowing that hers had been real, and his had been nothing but utterances of passion, beautiful words with no real meaning. It is a pity, she thought, that people think pretty words are poetry. Only a true poet knows, that real poetry is soaked in meaning, sweet bread pudding made from the juicy flavor of sugar and spice. But flowery words cannot unlock the soul, if anything they do nothing but mislead the listener into confusion.

It was a strange thought, that hung in the air around her head, hung in between them like a veil. She noticed his lips were moving, and that he was saying something. She turned her attention to the jargon falling out of his mouth, already realizing the truth without needing to hear the confusion of his language.

She only needed one answer from the lips of this shadowed man. This man that had once been her lover, and her dream, what she thought was her destiny. She could see that he was so lost within his inner worlds of perceived pain, sorrow and distraction. She could not reach him thru his own shadow.

So it is I that must instigate the killing, it is I that must sacrifice this body at the Crossroads. Or he will continue to keep us in the murk of limbo and indecision.

So she drew back the arrow, and felt the string grow taunt in her bruised hands.

“Tell me one thing. Underneath all of your swirling pain and confusion, underneath all the stormy turbulence, the fear, the indecision, underneath all of your humanity, look to your heart, and tell me, are you in love with me?”

His face froze as if in shock, and the shadows drew back as one lone sunbeam landed on both of them. Illuminated, standing in the Crossroads, her hand poised for the execution.

The wind howled, all around them the grass trembled, but right where they stood, the air was still and dead. They were in the eye of the storm.

He looked at her, then his eyes fell to the ground, and he seemed surprised as the words tumbled from his mouth.

“No.”

She let the arrow fly, and it sunk deep into the chest, stilling the heart's last protest, ripping the veins open. The chest cavity filled with blood, and a corpse was born. A spirit set free.

The sunbeam hovered for just a moment longer, as the final breath was exhausted and a spirit began its ascent to the sky gods.

The two stood there, and looked at the dead body of what could have been. He was shaking slightly, and she realized he hadn’t fully understood what happened here at the Crossroads. She felt calm. Dead calm. Her response had been water running down hill, the natural movement of releasing her hand, and releasing the spirit from what had become a sick body.

He reached out to touch her hand, just as she leaned down to clean up the mess. She grabbed the corpse by the ankles and began dragging it towards the tall prairie grasses. The wind had kicked back up, the eye of the storm had moved on, and rain was beginning to fall. Now she understood why he had come wearing the trench coat. It was made of oilcloth.

The body was surprisingly light, now that it had been released of its burden of life. She easily tossed it into the grass, where it was swallowed up like a penny dropped into a mud puddle. She stood there as she watched it disappear, all her emotions receding. Rain ran down the back of her neck, underneath the collar of her jacket. She could taste the dirt mixing in her mouth with the blood from her lip. It was gritty, and flavored like rust.

She heard his footsteps approaching her, so she turned. The shadows no longer played on his face. She could see his tears had blended with the rain. Falling water.

“I must be going now. Look behind you.” She gestured to the castles rising up in the distance, great minarets lifting out of the dust and storm.

His attention was immediately pulled away, to the shining castles, to the promise of greatness, acquisition and power that they symbolized.He began walking without even noticing that he had forgotten to say whatever he had meant to say to her.

So it goes.

She watch as his form walked away, the jaunty excited steps moving his shoulders up and down, wrapped in the oilcloth trench coat. She wondered if what he chased was real, or just a mirage that bubbled up out of the dust and confusion of life. For his sake she hoped he found something real.

It is what it is.

She chuckled as she remembered the day she had first heard that saying.

One foot in front of the other, she walked down the prairie road. The storm had stayed just ahead of him, and her direction was clear. The grasses were still, yet she could hear their slightest whispers, and it truly sounded like reedy bells ringing hallelujah.

A swallow dove in front of her, lifting her gaze with the arch of its swoop. Overhead was a beautiful rainbow sitting in the last shimmering air-born droplets. Lifted out of life as it is, unfolding out of the storm that was, and lighting her path as she walked alone thru the desolate prairie.

A Solitary Universe

Today slipped into yesterday in my mind. Outside, the world was in a slight haze, as light bounced around and off of the moisture in the air.

I longed for something I couldn't place. An intangible feeling that I was missing a key ingredient in my happiness. Had it slipped away and escaped even my memory?

What did I long for? I've learned that longing for the companionship of another was an empty road filled with the distractions of projections. How we box ourselves in, constraining what we would be for the subtle approval of our chosen mate. Only to find ourselves single again, and more confused about who we are, and who we want to be, confused by the voices of that other who we allowed so much power over our inner landscape.

sigh.

But those relationships did act as quite a catalyst for self revolution. The merging of two universes allowed for a fresh exchange that could only happen when the walls came down, the guards took a nap, and the reigning king and queen played like children in the streets of their combined, brave new world.

Truthfully, we never learn to stay away from this universe combining. We fortify our towers and walls with the best defenses and train our minds with the wisest strategy, and still the day comes when another human, a shining world of intrigue and virtue marches thru our walls.

And with beautiful voice, the correctly placed harmony to our own sound, this human would melt the battlements, waltzing inside and rearrange the furnishings, tapestries, and rugs usually unaware of how much effort we had invested in keeping our universe protected from such change.

And we love every moment of the imbalance that takes our world by storm. In little ways we concede and yield space, in little ways we change and worry about our looks and behavoir, about our virtue, what was once a solid surety becomes a subtle insecurity as we begin to care for the approval of this new being. Our sense of self becomes entangled in their sense of our self.

This is where the potential for inner devastation begins. Our center, our balance point, becomes pulled of center by the proximity of this other being, and strangely, it is this magnetic pull that keeps the world moving forward. The proximity of the earth, the moon and the sun to each other create orbits of influence, and a solar system is born.

So it goes.

We seemingly cannot escape recreating in our own lives the macrocosmic world we float around inside of, but what we can do is try to be aware of the virtue of the human that we may become entangled with in this cosmic dance.

And practice keeping our own gravitational center in alignment with our inner nature thru meditation and other self affirming practices.

The world outside my window is still hazy, and tranquil, and as usual, something is missing. Maybe I am craving the thrill of imbalance, the glory of the uphill ride as I am swept away, higher and higher in giggling exctasy, only to have everything fall out from under me as i sail towards the valley floor.

She

He slipped in the door, carefully, quietly turning the latch. His breath reeked of whiskey and those cheap, skinny cigars that men smoke when they don't want to commit the time and money to a real cigar.

It had been a long night. That one girl at the bar was smoking hot, even if she was a brunette. He liked the way her tribal tattoo crept out of her jeans. Her tight jeans.

He paced around the kitchen looking for something to eat before he took a shower and tried to creep into bed with her. He hoped she wouldn't be mad that he had stayed out all night. He worked like a dog all week, and he needed to blow off some steam with the boys. She certainly had no problem spending his money.

A few pieces of cereal found their way into his mouth, and onto the ground. He would swiffer tomorrow.

Boy, that girl was hot. He couldn't stop thinking about how she would taste. He was excited to meet her later that week. He would stop by her work during the day, pretending he was there on business. He was quite the business man, and he could help her out, he had a lot of opportunity. They would obviously have to meet for dinner and drinks to discuss it.

He rolled it around in his mind as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. Playing the tape forward, he knew he could easily charm her. When the mention of his relationship status came into play, he already knew he was the victim of that woman upstairs. He knew she must have some flings on the side. How could she not? He was always away, working, traveling. Ever since she had moved in, he didn't want her anymore. The thrill was gone. She was no longer something to be acquired, but something to be shelved.


Boys just want to have fun. Crunch. Crunch. Ha.

Lizza was her name, with her tattoo, and her tight jeans, and the way her lips wrapped around that shot glass, tongue flicking out to lick the last drops. Oh, he would have her. She wanted him. He was the biggest guy in that bar tonight, tall, successful, he knew his power. He felt drunk with it, with life, with his pursuits. Or maybe whiskey. He didn't care. He had kept buying her shots until she swayed into him on the dance floor, her hips pressed against his hand as she undulated.

He needed a cold shower. Just thinking about her, he wanted to explode. God, he loved that feeling. He pursued desire.

His plates were tossed in the dishwasher as he took his clothes off and headed towards the shower. She always complained if he got into bed smelling like a barroom floor. Soon, she would be dealt with....

The water felt amazing down his back, as he thought of Lizza, and massaged himself. He would have everything life had to offer, it was his right, his duty, to show the world what he could do.

He plunged himself over the edge, muscles clenching as he thought of this new woman.

Engulfed in Ecstasy, fantasy, he never heard the soft the turning of the latch. The gushing water, and the rushing in his blood covered up the sound of the truck starting outside, and the loud bang of suitcases being tossed into the truck bed.

He got out of the shower, putting aftershave on his sensitive skin. He felt great, as a matter of fact, he felt like he could go again, and began humming a little song. He would take advantage of the woman that was sleeping soundly in the next room. She was a looker, and always complied with his advances. His new found excitement began to grow, and he strode down the hallway, into the dark bedroom, a sure swagger guiding his very being. He was a right man.

He slid his body under the covers, gently easing his weight onto the bed. His right hand drifted over towards her.

And his hand kept going. There was nothing but a warmth, as if she had suddenly disappeared.

His mind skipped, not understanding. Maybe she had gone downstairs for a snack. He lept out of bed, indignant at what he didn't know, but by the time he found her, he would have his reason.

At the bottom of the stairs he could see into the kitchen, and there was no light on. There was no movement. When he walked into the dimly lit room, he realized that everything was just as he had left it.

Except for one thing.

His keys were missing.

How It All Began, part 3 (see below for previous parts)

I was heading to Oregon for a festival. I hadn’t known that was my destination until I heard Lisa Love tell me about it. I met her under a sycamore tree, just west of Twin Falls, Idaho. Her dishwater colored bangs kept falling into her eyes. She had a glassy gaze and she hadn’t shaved her armpits in a long, long while. She was greasy, shiny, and mildly wholesome. Like mildewed wonder bread.

“You just left Ricci? You weren’t going anywhere, dude? Ya know, I can understand, sometimes you just hafta get out.”
“Yep. It seemed like the time to leave.”
“Well, we should gang up and travel together. Two girls have more fun, and get much better rides than one. Plus, its easier to deal with the creeps when we can play dumb and run together.”
“Yeah. I guess that’s so. Where are you heading?”
“To the rainbow gathering in eastern Oregon. It’s the best time ever. All these people get together in the forest and cook food and make love and smoke weed and talk about how we are gonna change the world. Its so much fun.”
“Well. I might as well try it out. The world seems like its changed too much already.”
“Ha Ha!! Your funny Ricci. I like the way you talk.”

I wasn’t joking. I was being serious. Why did everyone think I was sarcastic? I guess it was the easiest way to deal with what I had to say.
So we sat there eating our cheese and bread sandwiches, watching the traffic kick up the dust. The dried earth and roadside filth would fall down in powdery gusts that coated the highway grass, that coated our clothes, our faces, the food we were eating. The heat rose out of watery mirages off in the distance. The road shimmered, cooking its black tar fillings. I had a half empty gallon jug of warm water pressed against my side. I was free. This was my filthy, sweaty heaven.
After we had eaten our meager lunch and drank enough water to make us feel bloated and lazy, I told Lisa Love to wait while I handled our transportation marketing strategy. She gave me a blank and wide-eyed look in response. Funny hippy chick, I thought as I walked across the truck stop lot. She probably thought I was quite the piece of work as well. The sun was directly overhead and I could feel it burning my scalp thru my hair. I had little almost-sweat spots on my temples, but they kept drying and getting coated with dirt, so nothing really came of my body’s effort of water-cooling me.
I could see a fat housewife filling her beige minivan with gas. Three kids strapped to car seats were fighting over a bag of pretzels. As I approached the filling station she looked up, her too-close eyes measuring me with a stupid flat look, debating if she should be afraid of someone who was obviously different from her. She couldn’t figure it out, so her piggy eyes darted back and forth, revealing the confusion and fear in her heart. Revealing what she would protect and what she would compromise. Her kids, sensing her attention shift away from their constant chastisement, stopped fighting and looked up. The same quality of lazy cow-gaze already had taken root in their small, pale eyes.
I gave them a still appraisal, a look I was beginning to perfect. I imagined my eyes were a pond covered with a thin sheet of clear ice, and that the object of my gaze was falling down into its depth. It had a very disorienting effect on them, and they lowered their piggy eyes. I walked past them.
The truckstop dumpster was overflowing. It smelled terrible and had been cooking in the sun all morning, reaching an empowering noon ripeness. It drifted to my nose in waves of heat and smell. I shortened my breath and walked quicker. There was a big box to the side of the dumpster. I grabbed it and swiftly turned around. I headed back to the shade of the tree and Lisa Love. The minivan had pulled away into the infinity of the world.

“Hey Lisa, do you have a magic marker?”
“Yep. Ooo, lets make a sign. I have a couple different colors. The last ride I had gave me a blue and a green one. I have the big black one too, that is the best for making a sign real quick.”
“Cool. Lets just use the black one, I think we should try to get out there and catch a ride before these hicks call the police on us for loitering. Do you know what the laws are for hitchhiking in Idaho?”
I had learned in my brief time out here on the road that you had to find out if a state was an onramp state or a highway state. What that means to the thumb traveler is that in certain states you could hitch hike only on the onramp, and therefore you would only get seen by people who had excited that specific location. This often meant much more time sitting on the railing, waiting to get a ride.
Other states let you hitch hike directly on the highway. So highway states you are seen by a lot more traffic and most likely you would be picked up much quicker. People would stop because they were bored from hours driving by themselves, and wanted the company. Or they felt pity. Or they felt curiosity. Or as in the case of Frank, they were a creepy nut job.

“I have no idea about all the laws in Idaho, Ricci. But I haven’t seen a cop all day, so lets just see if we can get a ride from a trucker first, and then we’ll go to the highway.”
“Ok.”

The sun rises, illuminating my hands as they press these keypads. I am grateful for my life. i pause and notice the depth of my gratitude. Sometimes, it is very shallow. I lay in bed and cry, and feel dissapointed in myself for these immature and waisted tears.


so it goes.


and here is she, the beautiful sun, she leaps up as i am rising. her glow cuts the heavy clouds over this usually sunny city.

what does that mean?

that i spent the night with humanity. talking. promoting. considering. looking.

"would you like a drink?"

"well, of course sir, being that i am not that much of a prude, a gin and tonic please."

"where do you live?"

" i live in my home, but mostly i live in my heart."

"really? but what do you own?"

"i own myself. and a few other odds and ends. would you like something?"


"sir, have you seen our beautiful desert sunrises? it is raining and the clouds are extra vigilant in thier presence, as they move and dance in front of the sun."

he answers, as he looks down at his well-ironed clothes, and he says,


" i don't know about all that, but i hear the odds for blackjack are better this week."

so i sigh. what can you really say? i pointed my soul at the direction that is truly joyous. the beautiful sunrise.


but his pursuit led him to different ends.

"Baby, i am going home. i hope you win lots. you deserve it:



so i hopped in my car and drove home with the windows cracked, enjoying the desert storm as it rolled in off the mountains. i was ready for it.

The Oven

"Nice." she spoke as she looked at the picture and took a bite of her rye toast.

"She is a nice girl. If you can find a way to be happy with yourself, then you can be happy with anybody."

"Do you really believe that?" His eyes looked deep into hers. He only heard the part of her statement that he wanted to.

She sighed. He thought he was happy, because the simplicity of success and ease of life had never allowed his depth to develop. This was no one's fault but her own. She had provided him with a structured and safe childhood, and chosen a mate that made him physically strong, tall, and powerful. His biggest issue had been whether he took first or second place.

But eventually, life would change that too. Life had a way of taking what you thought you really wanted and giving you exactly what you needed to really grow up. She knew her boy had a thunderstorm in store for him.

"I really love her, and i think I am going to marry this girl, mom." He held the picture in his big hands, and projected his desire upon his idea of her.

All of that could happen with just a picture. The journey a mind can go on while swirling ideas around with glimpses of possible futures.

She put another piece of toast in the old oven. She left the heavy metal door slightly open to keep the kitchen warm. The heat never quite got warm enough in the old house.


It was his first relationship.