Heavenly Light

Heavenly Light
Read to see the light

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

This will all be found somewhere in my novel soon to be written

As I step into the lakes of the sand dune sheets that lace around my naked body I take a deep breath exhaling preconceptions that lead me to this moment. And as this breath in this moment awaits for me to close my eyes as if it were sleep, my dreams begin to tantalize with the surprise of what reality ultimately implies. So in the midst of all this I find myself lost, but then again I have nowhere to go, so I guess I am found again, And as I walk through these sandy sheets I find a bath of crystal water, but I am not thirsty in this desert of happiness. i take a drink to cure my hunger for friendships and look to the moon shining bright in the sunlit sky. Odd that the moon shines so bright on a day where my skin is burning from the same light that causes its reflection in the glassy waters of the surreal horizon. And now I break those mirrors without the notion of bad luck as society likes to decide and I dive into the depths of the water that keeps no secrets. Swimming with each stroke the water begins to know more and more about me and learn about my life I am living; a life without destiny. I feel drown in a puddle of sand like an avalanche in winter, but the seasons are opposite here...so is it summer? Lost again I take one last breath and swim down to the depth of the oceanic pond, and as salty as the world may be, this water is sweet. Touching the bottom I realize that there are no limits, but now I must swim back up to take another breath. As my lungs crave oxygen my mind wanders to new depths even though I am rising like the tide. Now about to unite the lake with the ocean my lungs pound for respiration. Like water and air put together my breaths become steps and inhaling the sweet water leads me afar, only to be lost again. But in this path that I have chosen I remember that the word lost cannot exist. So here I am found again on this never ending journey. Examining each grain of sand as if it were one moment on this earth, for it has lived generations, being apart of the land since its conception. And I can only bask in its beauty as I begin to cry. Wondering where my tear drop will end up once its evaporated from the hot sand that burns my tethered feet. But I keep walking even though the balls of my feet need an ash tray to flick off the excess and be taking by the wind to another place still yet unknown. My feet lead me along the wise sand dunes and my eyes guide me through the blindness of a reflection that is only seen in opposites sides, like people coming at me;...why are they going in opposite directions, I was already there, but then again I am going to where they just were...why dont we share knowledge. But as he passes, his feet steaming and mine having already suffered to numbness, i simply nod, a nod of approval, and notice that his face is a mirror image of mine, approving my future path. So the wanderers wander on their opposite paths, assuring one another that they are on the road of success, wherever that may take them. With my passage assured by the confident face of one I dont know and never will, I wonder what brought me to this place, or was it that this place brought me to it? As I ponder this illusion that daunts my every step I decide to stop. A wanderer that stops in his path, only to contemplate this very moment. And as I stop a bird flies overhead, its caw loud and echoing and disappears into the cloud of sand swept up like a mini tornado in the heat of summer. A tornado that will soon die down to make yet another dune for me to summit, the bird having already fled in its fury. But by the time I arrive to the point where this was once a natural wonder, it is now a peaceful obstacle on my endless journey. And then there was the beat. The prevalent, profound sound that kept its rhythm so I could only walk in step, exactly to its endless panting. One step, the next, one more, then the next but no time to stop, nothing to think about but the beat...one two three four. But this rhythm is too limited for me. Variety in any sense is what keeps me going, the changing scenery and the thought that with each step something is different in this vast world. The horizon looms and as I make it my goal to reach it, when I get there yet only another horizon appears in the distance seeming much further than the one before. But my curiosity does not permit me to stop, I must always continue to see what looms behind the next corner, over the next summit or under the next valley. And descending the next valley I did, this one however, different. Different not in the kind of way where when I arrived there wasnt a curiosity to see what lay beyond, but curiosity to stay and see what might come to me. And very well it did, Another wandering man like the last I saw as we crossed paths, although this one was not going to be silent. He approached me and with one breath spoke some words. Words I did not understand. But words however, expand energy, and for one to speak to someone else such as this man to me, must meant that I am worth his energy. So I absorbed his energetic words and spoke back to him. Without knowing each others language and never even knowing what it was called, I had a conversation with this man, and him with me. And the words turned to whispers carried by the wind. The wind carried the whispers through the grass, along unbeaten paths to winding roads to highways to city streets. But we were nowhere near the city, which eventually might be the destination. For it was the destination of our words today. And tomorrow, who knows, because that is how this story goes. A hand shake and a smile and I parted from the man whose curiosity struck me profoundly. And the words turned to wisdom whispered like westerly winds, days end and begin with night, full moons shine bright, giving way to the morning sun light. And as the morning was born, so was I. A new man on the same mission, going wherever I pleased, with or without permission. And now with know knowledge my ears were tuned to the world. Listening to her as she breathes, every inhilation a step on her soil, ever exhaustion a glance towards her boundaries. The horizon, the sky, the clouds moving accross her like me on the ground. Casting shadows, dropping rain, providing shade and making shapes. But our greediness had paved streets on her sheets. We used her further than her capabilities could bare. And now all I could do was stare. Looking at her purity in the naked truth. The moment of me with myself hidden in the middle of her woomb, Hidden because it was just me, at the moment of her truth. Looking back at how it was when it was just her. Me, there after thousands of generations of us obliterating her without appreciation. And now she wants reparations. TIdal waves crashing upon urban shores where waves don't normally break. A surfers holiday, but a day to suffer. I kept walking along the deserted beach that she left in ruins. It looked like my life once, but I rebuilt those ruins and corrected the errors that led to the tidal wave. Now its our turn to correct our errors. One step in the sand and my footprint indents the barren surface. A single wave washes up onto shore and wipes it clean. I know now to live in the moment, because just like that our footprints can be erased. But then again there is still a whole world for me to wander, so I want to keep that goal in mind; living in the present and thinking about the future. Both mine and hers. She has provided me the highway, and I have the transportation and the destination remains unknown. Still as each day is born, the sun peaks over the horizon until it waves goodbye in the opposite side of the sky. Sometimes the moon shines in the day, and rises even brighter in the night. Or if its a sliver and illuminates circular patterns, we all know what the symbolism means. Or do we? Its the paradox represented vehemently in one brisk step outside to the doors of the world. The moon, distantly white in the untouched sky. The sun, shining bright trying to hide the moon. But we must remember that the moon is only reflecting the suns light. So the sun must have authority, giving the moon its time to shine at night--so why is the moon trying to steal the sun's thunder. Its like an eclipse, we are all ancestors Aztecs and my sacrificial blood may not be burnt. But my burnt blood shed from last nights tireless walk along deserted city streets remains uncleaned. Unsanitary in this insane world. What is sanitary? What is sane? Are we all unsanitarily insane? Persistent at least, to say the least.

And my wandering quest for understanding I know I must stay persistent. The world is resilient and never ending, just like my quest. Where did I start? Where does it end? I am obviously not alone in this as I have seen others crossing my path. And there must be even more behind me following in my footsteps, looking back I cannot see them, but they are there. And same for the ones in front of me, I cannot see their silhouettes cast by sunset shadows, but I know they are there, wandering just like me.

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