4162. KINDLING, PT.1 (Meditation)

KINDLING Pt. 1

(Meditation)

The fire has now consumed the wood and we

have no words awaiting the flame. The last

house along the border, it is gone - owned,

I think, by one General Ed Shea, late of the

last war and still waiting for more. (He was

not at home, nor his kin. Having gone to New

Orleans, it was his home I was sleeping in).

-

I have my own trestled variance with the world -

and within it too, I guess. As Paul of Tarsus put

it: 'in the world but not of it.' I am one step out

of focus, alive. But why listen to a traveling

Jewboy thrown from his ride? Why not listen

to me? I have seven times the stretch, and

basketball hands to reach the stars and all

the filtered planets. I didn't see them coming,

but those things have run me down.

-

So, as I said, why then not listen to me? A

hanky in your season, I want to be your swab.

And having shouldered so many burdens, the

flanks of my loins now wither : this I grant -

but I am taking steps for a huge and grateful

comeback. To say once : I want to count your

cadence and walk to your squad, be your vaginal

inspector, check the peas within your pod. To wit,

once again become your God! So simple, really.

-

I was once a motivated prisoner of all my own

creations. I am not now, nor shall again ever be.

I have sought a true perfection, and that is how

I see. Once again, listen to me. There is a new

and yellow light upon all the trees. It touches all

things, illumines and enlightens, and moves

graciously along. And this light is warm; the

human murderer shall not touch it.