Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Morpheus and the Sleepers
I wonder what the people do
Who do not sleep the way I do
What is it that you do
Alone at night?
I listen to old jazz, blues, classic rock music
Music that makes sense
Music that takes me back to days of sane insanity.
In my mind I see images of places I've never been
and people I've never known.
The gold of fields of grain with waves like ocean waves
and the songs of the Meadowlark and Killdeer
The sun is warm on my face and I smell the ripening earth
as spring rains have awakened the stored energy in seeds
of trees and flowers and plants about to be.
Life goes on whether we are here to see or not.
That essence of movement and time and the creative spark
That keeps the stars in their places and the circles and cycles
of life play out in the songs of every living thing in one way or another.
I feel the texture of leather on my skin.
I am wearing deer-hide clothing
Buckskin and beads.
Everything smells of wood-smoke and sweat
I wish that I could be in other places and other lives I know I have lived
I know the heft and smell and color and weight of carrying a musket rifle
I know the deafening explosion of sound and the singing of lead balls as
they carry out their mission of death on the battlefield.
Dear Mother, I write, I am fine , even though she knows I am not.
I want so badly to be back home where my heart and home is
but I have to kill or be killed. The Mourning Dove sings her song
of sorrow for the dead and dying. I don't know if I will ever see home again.
There are doors through which we can sometimes go that show us
where we have been and who we have been. Even doors that show us
who we will be in some future world that may not even be on this planet.
There is a key and a keeper of the key.
The keeper in not an easy person to convince to let you have the
use of that key. But sometimes if he feels it will further you along your path he may let you take a peek. Just enough to keep you seeking the truth of your existence.
You may not like what you see. You may not like who you are.
But your choices make you who and what you are.
If you live a life of luxury it may be a prelude to a life of slavery and back breaking
work for no pay and little food. You can go either way. You can go both ways. There are infinite ways to go and we may go all of them at one time or another.
I don't know why I write this stuff. I don't know if anyone understands or even cares.
It has nothing to do with money. One day I hope to be able to write what is really inside me so that others can actually see and feel what I feel.
Until then all I can do is ramble on and try to describe life. What I call life.
© 2011 Philip G. DeLoach
Posted by Philip DeLoach at 12:31 AM