Friday, September 21, 2007

There's A Teddy Bears' Picnic in Balmorhea This Weekend

It's homecoming in Balmorhea; time for the stoners to come back to the woods to play.
And to remember....



Once upon a time
in the not too distant past,
when the shade of the cottonwoods
and the dark nigh
t of a new moon
concealed in its shadows
all but the red glowing embers zig-zagging and stopping a
gain
among haints and their whispe
red conspiracies,
running-up to imagined lips in the darkness
to glow brightly for an instant
before fading again
into circles of ritualized innocence...

...memories of the living,
projected and gathering about on concrete altars
then drifting dazzled among wafting
effervescences of promised dreams,
slipping in and out of this now hallucinated refuge
beside crystal-flowing irrigation waters,
all the while mingling so silently in
the peace of a sacramental night
as to suggest visions and ebullitions of their sacred smiling faces upon its rustled leaves...

yes...

oh yes...

...in the good ol' days,
gadding
about,
with but one intention:
to play and shout...

...back when a fella and his girl could make the drive-thru at Fuzzie's Convenience Store and pick up a spliff or a rock or two passed through a sliding glass window across the hanging mini-counter top,
before sneaking off together unnoticed except by crickets --
-- those spies of our summer evenings
stopping to listen
attentively
to our strange chirpings
and sighed releases of tension --
-- celebrating at our leisure

where desert stars appear as diamonds
and the cool clean air flowing upward
then dropping over the transfigured mountaintops and desert arroyos
is carried aloft in The Haphazard Way,
swept along and sand-filtered
to that home within our gently heaving lungs,
arriving already reunited to our origins
and spoken by foreign tongu
es aflame in joy and gladness
and washed of its sin across artesian spring waters,
these compassionate blessings of creation and baptism,
the ancient clear-light of white blazoned breath
slipping through mountain passes
in the near reaches above our little town,

unnoticed as a mother's familiar child underfoot,
arriving here again
and gone,
here and gone
after loving maternal rapprochement,
then he
re yet again
and gone even again just now,
returning with rejuvenated elan vital
yet not ever surpassing its Original Mind,
the sacred breath of air never having left us
after all yet to repeat
Her breath-blessings as if
never having a distant beginning,

never having been willed or uttered,
ever present,
in need of no forgiveness
and having no guilt,
Immaculate,
never having left the hearth,
yet appearing renewed
and bearing
the good news of
expectation,
impassioned expression
and wonder-conceived
children of the Wind-Spoken Presence within us,
invisibly begotten,

Announced by Gariel,
Confirmed by Raphael,
Escorted by Michael,


and Delivered unto us
by His ancient heavenlies

upon wings of Her Dominions
and Cherubims,
Powe
rs
and Thrones
and Seraphim,
Arch-Angles
and lesser Angles
alike with gilded casts

of multitudinous Virtues...


...and mendicant saints on pilgrimage
following in their trails
for this night only,
having no other intention than to be,
eternally equ
animous
and playing furtively nevertheless within the laughter
under the cottonwoods where our story begins.
*
Yes, a taradiddle
accompanied by fiddle
pretending to riddle

but spake not in jest

This angelic fable
perclumpitied at table
befriending the able
spake I at bedrest...
*
...in that solitude after lights-out
where no words exist
but that Original Word
Whose koan draws us into
its own
Holy Silent Wisdom

and breathes the Eternal Now into our hearts
a song of Compassion
between The One and Her Own,
Her's now our fam
ily as well
if we would but listen to her singing.

Yes

Once upon a time in the not too distant past,
when the shade of the cottonwoods
and the dark night of a new moon
concealed in its shadows

all but the red glowing embers zig-zagging and stopping again
among haints and their whispered conspiracies,
running-up to imagined lips in the darkness
to glow brightly for an instant
before fading again
into circles of ritualized innocence...

...memories of the living,
projected and gathering about on concrete altars
then drifting dazzled among wafting effervescences
of promised dreams,
slipping in and out of this now hallucinated refug
e
beside crystal-flowing irrigation waters,

all the while mingling so silently in the peace of a sacramental night
as to suggest visions and ebullitions of their sacred smiling faces upon its rustled leaves...
*
...Or you could drive up and down Austin Street,
Or Fort Worth,
Or out to the lake,
boom box blasting,
drinking Cold Butt-Weizer
windows down,
laughing an joking,

with dogs bitting at your back bumper,
their masters barking ignored commands.

*
Then the war began
and a few of the boys came home in boxes
to Marine Corps funerals...

...after a time...

...when the price of gas went up,
we recalled our responsibilities
and drifted away to forget.

* * *


--progress

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