The Lighting of a Fuse

That place... that one crevice into which the Sun creeps at night, leaving the crust in lonely dark... that meeting point, where Fire and Earth coalesce in perfect solidarity... why must it be so impossibly remote? that when I make chase, the Sun only flies up into the sky? or sinks still away should I stand by to see? Would that I could lay on that horizon of the setting Sun, in pure energy where Sun stokes Stone.

あ恵なちた 枝下私を、知木で保なさい

should I attempt translation, the meaning would suffer -- not only factually, but emotionally; mostly mythos being lost. The japanese have a beautiful language and way of wording, such that no translation will do its beauty justice. So all I will say here to aid understanding without terribly misrepresenting the saying is that the themes involve nature in the particular, and wisdom as a benevolent and protecting force. I was inspired to write this after experiencing a constancy under the low-hung branches of an ageless pine holding snow as in clouds above my head -- the wisest tree I have ever met, and certainly the most beneficent. Unlike other trees, its branches expanded only to the extent of its height, which, coupled with its curving formation, resulted in an orb of green, upheld by a central wooden framed, and upholding an encompassing blanket of snow. It thus maintained within Itself an entity free from the proceeds of the season -- It truly is timeless -- yet did not fail to embrace the snowy scene. Despite its humble four feet of lowgrowth, the cedar sprung from a turret of stone, placing its perch at the height perspective and perfection, and giving it rise to a vantage point above all other trees of that thorn-strangled wood. Those cyclical branches circled into infinity around its self-cast figure, inviting a lone winter wander as myself to find respite under and in Its arms, surrounded by and around the overarching limbs as a mother bird's wings stretching over her head, protecting me from the elements on every side, and underneath as well by Its firmly founded roots. I cried for definition through relation to its Being of power, benevolence, and sagacity, and thanked it for the solace, encouragement, and inspiration it instilled in me.

This is my God.

Epiphany Reversed

I have read about and discussed the relationship between a word, it's meaning, and the learner of the word, where the three components relate in such a manner termed (by Walker Percy, that is) as the "Delta Phenomenon".  Now I made a connection between this, or rather the reverse of this, with saying a word so many times that it doesn't sound real anymore during one of the class discussions in an epiphany of fascination: see, in learning a word there is a change that occurs within the "mind" so as to allow association between a word (e.g., the sound of the word "ship") and a thing (e.g., a physical ship) so that hearing/reading/feeling the word is no longer a mere sound/combination of letters/gesture, but becomes a pointing arrow; a symbol bearing meaning.  However, when one repeats a word ad nauseum, what can occur is what I might refer to as a "Reverse Delta Phenomenon," wherein the speaker actually experiences an reverse epiphany. What I mean by this is that in repeating a word over and over, one becomes over stimulated, and the imagery of a word such as “blue” disappears as the neurons normally firing in response to the sound begin to decrease in activity, despite the repentance of the word (all theory I came up with just now, but as supplemental explanation, and not the actually basis of the phenomenon.) In this, the sound of the word is heard independently of the mental simulation of the thing to which the word refers, and thus in a way the meaning, or our reality of the word slips away momentarily as one in a sense “unlearns” the word. These orphan words fascinate me; detached from their meanings, they float as mere sound in the air as we hear them anew, just as before we learned they even had parents. I love twisting reality, and for me this is tantamount to bending the proverbial spoon in the matrix.

Blaze of the Blizzard

To test and see if rabies I had,
I stepped onto the open sill,
And then from there: the roof.

I froze in a frigid frame,
With cheeks rose in fire untamed.
Iced stone well below me,
Tomb stones just before me,

And winter winds sending snow
To encircle my form,
Breathing life into me as proof

El Bosque no Conoce

In the forest I was lost
So made the trees my home
But by and by, with skin on bark
It grew quite tiresome
I acquainted self with elf and lark
But scoffing was the gnome
For all the branches I might cross
And never nearer come

Beauty as Essence

Beauty is the striking stone
Which alone is meaningless
Stricken with zeal, an evanesce
Will then reveal gestalt and spark
Kindling into flame and light
Dwindling night glimpsed for first
Lasting as long as sight has durst
To join the throng of glowing dark

The the fire, the flint, the flare
As one: the flying lark

Schmidt the Buoy (Veil of Distraction)

When I outdoors in private misty dark
Survey the firsts to separate away
From blur, these stars come forth and make their mark;
Yet fog of false light keeps the real at bay.
The ground’s the culprit that emits this light
That disillusions me, and makes me see:
From nearby town this sick-orange shade is spat,
and forces focus on least entity.
Again I find myself by ground confined;
Surrounding sounds now hold me in clenched hand.
I strive in vain to reach out with my mind,
To hear sea’s sounding buoy from loud land.
Life’s higher callings are this way suppressed
By things that people sooner must address