Death

song of the multitude

she is multitude
she contains ecosystems
she is immense
filled from edge to edge with wilderness

she bathes in nightfall
and walks with death

she heals the forgotten and the outcast
moves in silence through shadow

sleeps in a mantle of tranquility

and like a leaf unfurling
bursts from joy in the light of dawn

she weaves her web on the strongest boughs

she watches from the high ground
of the mountain
and listens in the low places
of the valley

she can see the small things
and hear the small voices
of the earth

her hawk-sight soars far through the air

her song is water flowing over rock

she is guided by the stars

she is interlinked

her eye is uncovered

she is the dry country drinking the monsoon rain

her mind is the undersoil network electric
of the ancient forest
from mycorrhizae to heartwood
where the hare darts through the unrolling ferns

her heart is the cumulonimbus
towering anvil thunderstorm
lightning arcing into the dust and the dirt
where the coyote runs over the darkening desert

her soul is the deep of the estuary
where the ocean welcomes the river
after its long journey
where the salmon come home

once in every circuit
of our planet
around our sun

in this furthest arm of our galaxy
spattered among the deep space countless
where gravity bows before the unknown

she is multitude

extinction burst

the fish swims backwards into d̵̨͔͕̎̇̄̚ẹ̶̅̑͌͋̒̐͜͝c̷̢̞̳͈̠͖̽͗̍̾̊̀̉a̵͕͍̩̝͕̹̼͐̄̈́̓y̵̦̬̓
through the last of the stars
into the deep night

so

into the deep night we run,

over the fire we feast and we sing
and we speak and we form, yet

the night is long, the night is long
the night is long, the night is

long,

dark—

the night is


d̶̢̛̛̯̱̬̤̦̼͛̎̄̓̊̿̈́͊͘͝è̵̛̛̺̥̺͈̤͉̠̬̺̹̲̣͈͆̀̅̌̎͛̾̈̃͠͝e̴̢̞̗̥̫͔͔̘̰̣̲͐͆́̊͋̅͊̓͗̿̂͋͒͠p̶͕̯̫̬͍͚̫̓͊́͐̽͜

now eat

the fire
now eat

the eye
now eat

the grass
now eat

death and

build me an idol of trees and skins
and one of rock and stone
and one of bronze and silver
and one of gold and gold
and one of silicon and lightning;

to learn to
fear
—
to fear to
learn

OH PAINTER USE BLOOD

for the canvas is dry
and pale as the sand

use blood, more b̶̡̰̼̟̰̀̅l̸̨̪͎͓̰̉̏o̴̤̤̦̳̖͊͘͝ơ̴̩̺͓̦̂̕͜d̵̡̲͇̮͐

more blood

more,

for a crisp and lonely standard
that will snap high in the wind

tied to the stern of the ship
that sails the fathomless seas
and seeks the entropics;

for when we arrive
we shall drink down the neon
and noble gases
will be needled into our ş̷̖̱͕͐̈́̓̀k̶̨̗̤̈́͒͐̄͠ͅi̴͇̞͚̓͛n̴̘̟̝̦̓̒

as the choir sings free, free to

̶̷̴̷̤͉͖͎̙̙̣̹̭̖̀̿͗̀̍̀̀̀͊̀̕̚͜͠_̶̲̔͋̎ *

They are here. Run.


* ̶̷̶̸̡̢̛̺̺̙̫̞͇̦̮̟̬̲̦̻͍͇͉̘̖͇͉̪̠͇͕͚̪̦͚͍̙͑̓͗̽̒͋̃̓̃̅̄̾͐̃̈́͗͘̕͝


caldera, volcano, ocean, storm
smoked and smoked again the air so thick
to stop and think
let us study at the salt water,
all of it

and the highest tides that fill our flesh…

but how fortunate, this thread

how eyes, wide open to look upwards
into the deep of the deep of

the deep n̴̮̯̉͐̏i̷̩̿̒g̵̜͕͖͗̿͝h̷̞̀ṫ̸̞̅,

there—scintillation

as the fish turns, travails
over and across the rot
into liminal light

as the painter slowly packs to move
and pass this way
with a wink and a nod

are you watching?

one by one by one by one

the very last of the roaring



ș̵̡̺͉̟̲̹̜̤̘̤͙̻̬̪̙͙̃͐͆̋̋͒͂̎̈́͑͜͝t̶̡̛͍͍͎̠̰͍̖͉̝͕̗̜͍̱͖͚̖̱̻͈̟͙͈͔̑̽̓̊̽̈́̏̔̐̈́̐̾̔͘ͅẳ̴̢̢̧̨̛͚̬̠͖͓̝͈̳̫̖̘͈̞̞̻͔̗̙̻̜͙̓̔̃̐̌͛̆̍̈́̓̊̀̏̉̏́̑͑̚͘̚͜ͅŗ̴͍̙̫̺̥̮̹͖̘͙̾͐͂͋̽͋̈̋̈́͘͘͜͜ś̴̡͖̻̣̳̺͔̬̣̞̆̆̎͛̇̐͐̉̑̆̉͊̆̈́̆̽̍̅̿̽̕̕




click

off

,

The Truth

I speak to all people. I speak to you.

Your worth as a member of the human species and a resident of Earth is not defined by how much money you make, what possessions you own, your looks, your social media, or even by what you achieve.

It is defined by the shape you leave behind in the world. It is defined by what you were able to contribute to the sphere of experience in your life.

Some people earn monuments and accolades.

Some people add to the pool of harmless joy in the world.

Some people create a fire of goodness and courage that burns away the darkness.

Some people leave an irreplaceable void, sometimes within nothing more than a single other person.

And some people toil under the light of the sun or the light of the moon, nothing but nature bearing silent witness to their work.

Ultimately, whatever we do is meaningless. That is the way of the universe. Yet we must do it nonetheless. You matter here and now.

You did not choose to exist, but you must choose what shape you leave behind in the world. You must. And in deciding not to choose, you still make a choice.

For every human that has ever existed or will ever exist, this is everyone’s same charge, same vocation, same calling. This is the one thing we all share.

Reject it at your own peril, because in doing so you reject not only your fellow people, but your own humanity as well. You reject life itself.

We are islands to each other, yet unceasingly bound together.

What fires are kindled in your mind? What waters flow in the deep and secret places of your heart? What shape will you create?

As a human, you have within you the gift of conscious creation. It is what you live and what you pass down and what you leave behind.

I speak to all people. I speak to you. The power of this calling is in your own hands. Choose.

Western Window

I wanted to tell you
that I just watched the sunset.

The last 10 degrees sunk below the mountains
in real-time.

We say “I watched the sun set,”
when really we mean
“I watched the world turn.”

Our feet are rooted to the ground;
our eyes live on the horizon.

A lingering blossom of auburn
and dripping red
and yellow and pink
and pillowed blood golden sky now fades
up
into the coming blue hour.

Only in these slices of time
do I feel allowed
to “just be”.

Perhaps because
I’m watching
the sun set
and not the world turn.

The earth revolves in constance;
the sun sets in a moment.

Yes, this also means
I should remember
to
hold on
to such a feeling.

Yes.

So we persist in the knowledge
of the fact
that we call it “life”,
and not “death”.

Life revolves in constance;
death arrives in a moment.

We inhale and exhale,
rooted to the revolution,
trees of bone and dead stars,
veins of ocean water,
skin of salt and the electric,
eyes open
/
only
/
in slices
/
of time
/
that permit us
/
to break with gravity,
or find a safe orbit
in one another.

Twilight fades into the blue,
deep now in the coming dark.

No.

Not darkness. Look.

Worlds
upon worlds
upon worlds,

dancing.

Southeast Arizona Desert, Dragoon Mountains

Coyote

You know how headlights,
when you’re near a desert highway,
pan across material like a searchlight,
casting incoherent shadows
past whatever they happen to catch –

sage, cactus green and praying to the rain,
hitchhiker’s drugstore cowpuncher boots,
corrugated lean-to slumped up against the wire?

Well that isn’t happening just yet.

Coyote isn’t on the wander right now.

The sun is still walking, heading west,
knowing exactly where to go.

Daylight melts over dust and hardpan,
yellow, umber, ochre, neon hot pink.

Memory melts like daylight.

Those clouds, see. That’s what I mean.
Cirro… cumulo… cirronimbulus?

It rises, dark and thick in the gloaming.
It drinks the melted daylight.

A rush of cool air. Scattering of sand.
Silent stab of arced lightning.
One million volts in a terawatt cycle.

Thunderstorms drink memory like daylight.
They amplify.
They make ready for the night.

You should come tell me what you think.

Silence. Rumbling over the distance of the earth.

Silence.

Cumulonimbus. That’s it.

You’d have gotten that quicker.

Silence.

Scent of the dry before the wet.

Burning gold at the end of the sunwalk
underneath the dark tower.

There. Coyote’s on the wander. Hungry.

The semi-truck moves past
and headlights cast no shadows beyond a ghost.

Thirst.

Thunder.

Hunger.

Arclight.

Silence.

Anathema

20 years into this century
and the West burns,

the land inflamed, unceasing.

It burns in the forests
and the fields,
it burns in the streets,
with fires small and great
all stretching out for the same air,
all feasting upon the same oxygen.

But empires thus
are built of bone
and of sweat,

and within the elements
of things closest to our hearts,
from the private
to the pestilent,
we wait
and we watch
with dilated eyes
the assault and decay.

To breathe! Only to breathe…

The body has a finite amount of blood.
The mind can only take so much.

They will not stop, you see.
They will never

stop.

This is the desolation.

Oh rise now the midnight daughter,
oh rise now the twilight son;
keep your blades sharp,
your torches dry,
your eyes up.

Under the roaming haze
under a descending sun;
late now, the domain of summer,
and the long dark
approaches.

There is but one bastion,
one shield,
one bulwark,
one fire in the night:

hold fast thy memory,
thy faith,
thy hope
and thy love.

You know
in your deep-heart
what is right.

All else is anathema,
all else is so much dust,
for there are no spells
with which to resurrect the dead.

In Memoriam: Patrick H Lee

artist: https://www.deviantart.com/pe-travers/art/Desolation-120816158

Grace Note

It is a simple thing,
really,

but I have decided
that I miss your voice;
or perhaps
the presence of your voice;
or, I think,
simply the suggestion
of the possibility
that your voice
might be spoken.

I think I miss you,
in fact,
as one might miss a piano
that used to sit
in the living room
near the highest window-

waiting to sing the old songs

as sunlight slips softly
through the glass,

or snow piles silently
upon the pane.

The Problem is Not Your Demons

– It’s How You’re Handling Them

Rather than scroll past this for fear of it ruining your Friday mood, I urge you to take it as a moment of focus. So let’s talk about demons, and about how an absolute tragedy can give us a little bit of light. Are you ready to meet the real enemy? I guarantee it’s not who you think it is.

Three days after fashion icon Kate Spade’s suicide, and a mere day after the CDC’s report revealing a 30% increase in U.S. suicide rates over the last 17 years, beloved, brilliant, charming, curmudgeonly chef extraordinaire Anthony Bourdain takes his own life.

Not that you need reminding, but it’s been nearly 4 years since Robin Williams did the same.

Perhaps the most commonly-asked question when people such as these decide to end their lives, is “why?” We, from the outside, see genius. We see talent. We see creativity, heart, passion, wisdom, curiosity, success… we see a lot of things. What we don’t see is the internal process.

Too often we assume that people who create beautiful things are filled only with beautiful things. I assure you this is not always the case.

And to be clear, when I say “create”, I’m not referring to the stereotype of the tortured artist. In fact, I’m not referring to artists at all. Raising children, selling houses, teaching students, building a business- these are all creative acts in a sense, because to do them well requires concentrated effort, passion, and sacrifice. For all acts that require purpose of energy are a form of creation. This is one of the realities of nature that connects all people.

In fact, it’s often those parts of us- the poison, the darkness, the demons -that drive us to create in the first place. We create because too often it’s the only way to hold up a candle against the night. In doing so, many find a sense of peace- or at least of stability -in the sense that they’ve come to grips with existence, with the past, with the future. To be compassionate, not only towards others, but towards themselves. To be mindful of, and grateful for, the time we have right now.

But for many more, the struggle to find that balance becomes a focus of pressure itself. And so the brilliant singer extinguishes her own flame before her song is ever truly sung, simply because she views her failure to conquer her demons as an inexcusable flaw, one rendering her unworthy not only of success, but of salvation. And the mastermind chef and teacher cuts short his own life, believing that the joy he’s brought to millions isn’t justification enough for his existence.

This is why you cannot fight your demons. There’s no possible way I can over-stress this truth enough.

Listen. I know you’ve been told over and over again that you must “conquer” your fears, and “fight” your demons, and “win” over yourself. But there’s a sinister, hidden flaw nested in this advice that will lead- and has lead -many into the realm of self-defeat. To imply that you can conquer the darkness within, that you can single-handedly slay your own demons, is to imply that you are somehow broken or tainted, and that with enough force of will, you will stand victorious. That you will reach a state of “completion”.

This can be, as today’s news shows, a deadly fallacy to believe. For as with physical life, our consciousness, our memory, our internal processes are in constant states of change and evolution. Having anxiety, depression, fear, doubt, blame, and guilt trying to crush your success at every step is, like it or not, an intrinsic part of being human. Everything from modern society to modern food to modern technology is both a product of and problem for the human mind. Our minds arise from each of our unique collections of cells, our neurology, and without literally lobotomizing yourself or using some kind of magic to physically remove the problem areas, you’re more or less stuck with yourself. There is no “completed” version of You.

But hear me out- that’s not a bad thing. That’s not a bad thing in any way, no matter what you’ve done or been through. You are not a failure because you’ve failed to construct an idealized version of yourself, a Jesus or a Buddha who lives without flaw and without fear.

In fact, because of the way our brains map themselves as we progress through life, everything that makes you “You” is tied together. You are a complex and beautiful network of knowledge and memory and dreams and flaws. So without the problem areas, you wouldn’t be yourself. In other words, take away the demons, take away your soul.

So the real question, the real battle, then becomes “How do we deal with our demons?” How do we mitigate- and integrate -the things that strive to kill our spirit?

After observing many situations like Bourdain’s, including some tragedies of those I personally knew, and including some horrific things I’ve experienced, I’ve come to a radical understanding about the nature of our demons.

Have them over for dinner. Sit down, break bread, speak with them. Barter and trade with them. Strike deals with, and in doing so, subjugate them. But nicely. They have to decide to. You have to decide to. They are part of you, just as you are part of them. They are you. Yes, they may have arisen from incidents, or been given to you by others, but now they’re yours. You have to decide how best to befriend them and make them work for you.

Every piece of light and dark inside you has a purpose, but it’s up to you to define that purpose. When you accept that you have control over this process, and that it’s an act of compassion and of negotiation, you’re free to succeed as you see fit because you’ve thrown away the youthful notion that an intrinsic, and perhaps unwanted, part of you can be magically cut out and tossed aside.

And now, the real enemy: your ego. Disregard the assumption that “ego” means power, desire, or confidence. Your ego is a vestige of primal competition, of battle, of survival, of “choosing sides”. Your ego wants to fight your demons, because it’s the screaming part of your personality that stands up and shouts “I’M ME, AND I WILL FIGHT ANYTHING THAT THREATENS ME!” Sometimes, the ego is a necessary part of survival- especially after any form of trauma or failure. But these things beget fear, and fear feeds your ego. And when your ego becomes trained to feed on fear, your outer strength becomes the killer of your true, inner self. Your demons then run rampant, because the truth is that Ego has a loud voice but makes a poor warrior.

And still, your ego will fight you every step of the way on the journey to yourself, your success, and your freedom.

Along the way, it will throw every lie in the book at you- you’re a failure if you don’t “conquer yourself”, you’re “not worthy” because you’ve committed sins or have been defiled, you’re “not successful” because you haven’t attained someone else’s version of success, you “can’t do enough” or “can’t do anything right”; and perhaps the most vile, insidious, and downright sad lie you could ever let yourself believe: you don’t need anyone.

Whether for attainment of a goal or a desire to become a better person, not one single person on this planet has done so alone. You are not God, you are not a god; hell, you’re not even a demigod. You’re human, and we arose and succeeded through connection, support, negotiation, and community. We are, in fact, “wired for help”.

Rudyard Kipling, author of The Jungle Book, once wrote:

“…for the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.”

To accept the lie from someone else, or from yourself, that your journey in life is a solitary battle of defiance against the world… well, that’ll kill you. You may not die in the literal sense. You may not take your own life. But a part of you- the part of light that shines from within, blinding not only your demons but those of others around you -will surely die. And so you become weaker, and the pack becomes weaker.

All because you believed that you’re broken,
that being broken is a bad thing,
and that you’re a failure for not fixing yourself.

So here’s the point, my beautiful people. Sit at the table with your demons, and talk it out. But be wary of this dinner at first. Demons have notoriously bad table manners. Some adjustment may be required on both your parts.

Take heart, though, and take note: this will be an ongoing conversation for the rest of your life. There will never be a point of completion. I believe you have the courage, and the compassion for yourself and those you love, to do so. The strength and elegance of character you desire, and the peace and success you want, are right now within your grasp.

Needing help from time to time does not make you weak; in fact, asking for help requires a much more graceful form of strength than does a brutish rebuking of the world, or a solitary march to war.

Talk to your demons. Question them. Learn from them. Own them. Ignore anyone who says you can kill them.

Give love. Accept love. Do both with wild abandon, and keep your eyes on the horizon. But keep distance, as well, from anyone who tells you to fire on all incoming ships.

Above all, remember this: even the best and brightest of us have defeated ourselves. As the winds and storms of life fill your sails, and you carve the waves of your own destiny…

…don’t forget who the real enemy is. Make that enemy your friend, and gather your crew.

“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”
– ancient proverb