Transformation II

Caught in the throes of metamorphosis 
No one outside sees inside
the Pupae
Serene on the outside but internally
ecstatic discomfort
Amphibian dreams, the dreaming of plants,
of fungi,
The world at large of Kaleidoscopic patterns
and sacred geometries
Four billion years of evolution exalted
in new being
Frail, transparent wings still wet and new
still folded shut
The Moth head bowed introspectively
wings drying
Finally unfolding of the self body fully
wakens the soul's purpose
The moth takes flight under the full
Scorpio full moon

"Sometimes Angels Save Themselves"

After ten klicks at a hard run, she feels a genuine gratitude for the lightness of these titanium alloy blades but has to think about slowing down, light as the swords may be, the effort wears upon her now. The ground had been mostly open and her lead on her pursuers only slight and it was about time for her to make a move so she reaches in as deep as she could and thinking fast she pours it on with a surge of speed meant to draw them on behind her even faster which it does as they kept pace still nipping at the heels of her boots.

The country now rolling prairie with sparse ground cover and no trees at all. She crests the steepest hill yet and just as she starts descending spins on a dime planting herself firmly dropping to her knees leaning slightly forward in toward her pursuers at a forty five degree angle to break the forward momentum facing now these oncoming horrors of self doubt, self hate, fear and madness with both swords drawn and held fast blades forward crisscrossing arms bent at ninety degrees and wrists locked now a bodily knot of tense muscle awaiting the impact of the karma screaming down upon her full bore. Her ploy works as the Banshees lost in their hot pursuit are caught off guard and cannot break their forward momentum believing they had her at last so that their forward momentum slams them into the waiting assault of her blades. She closes her eyes muscles trembling with effort as her back, hips, thighs and quads absorb the brunt of the impact feeling the hot gore of flesh and bone and blood impacting her face as the bulk of them split one after another by the blades disembowel cascading over her compacted body now taught like one great muscle and in a split second it seems these demons so long in pursuit are ripped asunder by the onslaught of their own momentum executed against the razor sharp, implacable blades of her swords.

Opening her eyes, shuddering involuntarily, exhausted, she drops the blades to the ground. They do not clatter but thump dully so coated are they with blood and gore as they hit the hard packed dirt and rock. Her body trembles from the strain as she falls back upon her thin ass cheeks rolling onto her right side then and covering her head with her hands sobbing once and for all time a wracking sound that seems to tremble the earth underneath. She sobs so hard and so long that she cannot breath feeling she would pass out from lack of oxygen before finally managing a gasp of air. She realizes dully now barely conscious that she had been running for more than ten kilometers. She had been running for her whole life full tilt running for as long as she could remember being alive. Running out of a child's helpless terror, running in pain and in misplaced guilt and fear and in anger and fervid, hopeless remorse.

After some unfathomable length of time curled up there on the stark, cold earth alone in a pile of gory flesh already grown cold, she manages to walk the fingers of her right hand over to the hilt of one of her blades feeling too exhausted to cry any longer and when her long, thin, blood cakes fingers touch the hilt of her blade, she thinks a little wildly - “it’s over now, it’s finally over”.

"A New Spirit for the Discriminating Palate"

The Zeitgeist, a distilled spirit,
A sip hits like some violent ambrosia 
Goes right to the head packs a wallop
That Bright Lights and a Big City bang
For your buck

Drink a full glass and feel the glow
Delightfully provocative, resplendent
With fantastic and colorful lies
Makes you want to seat yourself
Firmly and get a grip, go to ground,
Only you cannot

Drink the bottle now you're talking
Racing ever faster to stay in the same place
A spinning and roaring of The Machine
Grinding away at the inside your own head
You no longer hear the throaty roars
Of the beguiled
Or sense the underlying seas of violence
Waves of the masses bucking and heaving
In their painful throes

The Hangover finds you on the floor at dawn
The soft dawn glow stabbing you in the eyes
You feel like a lone survivor of a bar massacre
You remember crawling away undignified
Through a confusion of the legs of combatants
At once feeling grateful to have slunk away alive
And feeling that survivors guilt and missing all
Your dignity -
When you find someone who loves you
To tell the story, you start by saying:

"One more sip and I'd have been a goner!"

Blackmoon - Short Story

Blackmoon awoke in the darkness of night with the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Born during a

full solar eclipse of the moon totally blind, he yet sees the world well enough in his way having learned from the medicine woman who raised him among so many things that we see with our mind, not our eyes. He lies still with his hand on his tomahawk for a moment listening as closely as would any white tailed deer sensing that whatever this is, it is not the kind of danger that a tomahawk can properly address. Rising, slipping silently into his dress and belting the tomahawk to his side, without waking his sleeping wife next to him, Blackmoon pushes open the animal skin door standing just outside their tepee in the dead of night. As sensitive to what is not there as to what is, he hears a silence that he has never heard before then, the hair still standing up all over his body now, out of the preternatural silence, a bright, white beam of light descends like a tree trunk from the sky above him. This beam of light seems to search the ground it’s like nothing he has ever experienced before, this light, and it is as solid as and about as wide in diameter as one of the old mother poplar trees in the forest.

This beam of light coming seemingly from no where above approaches him and then what is manifested upon the ground as if coming out of this beam sends chills down his spine and the manfear that he had thought mastered since long ago since first becoming a brave wells up making his legs weak beneath him where he stands and only with a supreme effort of will does he command his body back to respect – perhaps I have died in my sleep, Blackmoon thinks a little wildly, only bringing his mind into respect with his body again with great effort of will – perhaps, he wonders, I have passed over and this now is The Other Side of the River? This would explain the preternatural silence and the enigma of the light and this … this thing now standing not more than three man lengths in front of him having appeared out of the light like … like what some demon not an animal spirit some man shaped thing but not human, no, not human at all, the height of a child with an enormous head, gray in color, eyes twice as large as duck eggs, without ears and with a slit for a mouth and no discernible nose. He thinks that no one else has awoken that too leads him to suspect that this is not real – perhaps I am dreaming? He wonders.

When the thing takes a step toward Blackmoon, it is all he can do to contain his bowels and fear such as he had never known ices his bowels and he thinks with certainty now that this is no dream. This is real. It moves again not so much walking, he notes, as gliding toward him and Blackmoon remembers to breath and to stand in his center. He is not certain then as the things gets closer if he can move as this thing the size of a human child looks up at him with it’s enormous insect eyes now not even one man’s length away – what IS this think? he wonders wildly. His hand rests on the handle of his sheaved knife as he looks down into the bug eyes as if transfixed by them.

We are no threat to yourself or your people, the thing says then not with words to Blackmoon’s astonishment but somehow speaking this directly into his mind. The things lips do not move. It is strange but Blackmoon realizes that it is with speech similar somehow to the manner in which he “sees” without sight. He feels that they are both suspended within a bubble of this silence as if maybe they are actually in the forest, here in camp, yet at once not in the forest, not here in camp? He does not understand and it’s almost as if his mind stops trying to understand? He wants to look around, in fact, to confirm that he is indeed still here but he finds that he cannot take his eyes off the creature before him.

He finds himself speaking in the same manner then asking this creature – What is it that you want from us?

It is to you that we wish to address ourselves, Blackmoon. You are an exceptional thing, the creature somehow conveys a genuine sense of admiration. Your body is almost immune to our control and your mind is completely resistant to us something extraordinary in our considerable experience with your kind here.

How do you know my name? Blackmoon asks again in that silent manner as before, not sure how he could do it?

Unlike your people, what one of us knows all of us knows and you, Blackmoon, are well known among my people. Some of my people argue that your kind here is useless and dangerous while others argue that if we have found one such as this Blackmoon, then there must be others as well such that your entire kind is redeemable after all. I wished to see for myself, call it an indulgence, if you will.

Blackmoon acting instinctively, finding himself suddenly and inexplicably fluent in this new form of communication, steps forward closing the gap between them looking down at the little creature – well, he asks, you have seen me, now what?
The thing seems frightening, Blackmoon thinks, as it glides quickly backwards away from him and Blackmoon becomes keenly aware again of that preternatural silence around them become distinctly uncomfortable and not just for himself. He had mastered his own stillness many moons ago so let the silence be expressing his anger at being assessed like some weaker thing, something under scrutiny. Blackmoon felt the lack of dignity in this and reacted against it looking directly into the enormous insect eyes.

We are beings that live in the earth here and have lived here longer than have your people, we come from the rocks and the trees, from the mountains and the rivers -
Blackmoon “speaks” with disdain, interrupting the creature’s stream of thought – you are a being that lies to me, he intones, from his centered place, from his strength, allowing the anger to rise up flowing naturally outward – I know well of the beings who inhabit the earth, the trees, the mountains and rivers of this land and you are not one of them. It does not “speak” but looks up into Blackmoon’s eyes with those bug eyes utterly inscrutable but nevertheless Blackmoon senses its fear thinking – It is afraid of me? He could almost smell the fear coming off of it, such an odd feeling overcame him and he had to dismiss it in order to stay connected to this thing, this demon or whatever it is?

The thing then does try to tell the truth, Blackmoon senses, “saying” - I cannot properly tell you what it is we are for there are not the words for it that you would understand but we inhabit the same space and we have always been here in this place since long before your kind rose up out of the dirt of this earth.

With that, the creature seemed to simply vanish but Blackmoon had the sense that it traveled up that light beam that was the size of a mother poplar in the forest back up into the sky from whence it had apparently come? The light beam itself seemed to disappear upwards as if somehow withdrawn. Blackmoon looked up in the starry night sky hearing the night sounds of the forest return around him then becoming aware of a strange, high pitched whistle before seeing what looked like a star that falls from the heavens but one rising up from some suspension just above him and shooting up into the sky as if a star was falling backward into the sky above. He felt dizzied by this as if his sense of balance were suddenly extinguished.

He pushes back open the animal skin door returning back into the tent to his wife, his bed and to sleep. Tomorrow, he and a party would search for ginseng root and he knew would find a man-shaped one perfect for his work. He takes off his dress and returning naked to his wife cuddling in close against her backside feeling that there was no threat from this thing, whatever it was, and thinking that perhaps, after all, it had merely wanted to introduce itself to him as it had said? In a moment, he feel back peacefully asleep reassured by the normalcy of the early morning night sounds around them.

CRACK!

(Dream Pad - it works if you work it. Why I keep it next to the bed wake up jot down a shorthand of what I got in a dream then that jogs the whole dream back in the morning when I wake up or else I don't recall anything at all if I don't jot down something)

Poem by David Sky

CRACK!

A fire in the sky
A charge on the air
Positive male energy
A screaming lightening bolt
Seeking to ground out in earth

Mind goes back, that’s fear
Mind goes forward, that’s anxiety
Breathing in, breathing out
Back, fear; forward, anxiety
Breathing in, breathing out
Faster and faster, back, forward
Faster and faster, fear, anxiety
Breathing in, Breathing out
Just the mind lost on the air
A fiery charge of masculine energy
Faster and faster and faster and faster
Back fear forward anxiety back fear forward anxiety
Back forward back forward back forward -

CRACK!

The lightening bolt hits its negative ground
The earth: Great-Gaian-Mother-of-us-All
It’s like snapping awake from a black sleep
Here and now, centered, balanced, whole,
Breathing in, breathing out, in, out, in, out
Everything the same, everything different,
It’s always through the belly of the thing -
Not over, under, or around but through it

“Where am I? I ask
“Home,” she says.

Thank You, whew, finally ...

Short Story: Jackie Boy & Total Validation Training

Part One

Mae has learned to approach the farm hand carefully, jumpy fella, fully twenty yards away giving him fair warning of her approach, calling - Mickey?

Mickey facing out at the front pasture sipping coffee and raises a hand amicably without turning around, sipping from his coffee cup, his long hair as usual a tangled rats nest hanging down his back.

Mae stands over him looking down at at the pasture just stubble where Bill’s Blue Heeler races around at fantastic speeds this early spring morning through a thin mist laying low on the ground glowing softly pink in the early morning light. She says - I want to ask you a favor?

Sure, Ma, anything? Mickey says not looking up still watching Freddie literally running around in circles below them slicing paths through the thin veil of mist.

Well … for one, you know you can call me, Mae, right?

O I know.

Well Mickey why do you call me, Ma, or Mom?

Cause that’s what you are, Mae, a Mom.

She laughs a little, says - yea OK well not anymore my kids are grown and scattered to the four winds.

Ah, Ma, you know that don't change none of what you are.

Mae never was quite sure what the hell Mickey was saying and always had a sense of just let it go but also of not being able to let it go, either - OK, she starts then, kicking herself a little - so why don’t you call Bill, Dad, can I ask?

Still sipping coffee both of them now watching Freddie like some energizer bunny non stop racing around, Mickey says logically - Well Bill’s not a Dad really he’s a Husband and just feels awkward calling him, “Husband” but that’s what I call him in my mind. So I just call him, “Bill”. I think what we call things is important, I guess, maybe to answer your real question.With all due respect, Mom.

Well, Mae presses on – my husband and I really appreciate the job you’re doing, first of all, and we thought since you had said you always had dogs and trained them, maybe you could train Freddie, he’s a bit of a handful, you know?

Both of them watching the handful being a handful knowing Freddie would still be running around long after the morning mist burned off. Mickey says philosophically – you know, Ma, what amazes me about Jackie there is that he expends far more energy than he consumes and does it perpetually tell you what it’s a full on miracle if we could do that globally, that would be like some Free Energy technology, did you ever think of that?

Mae is thinking, “Jackie?” But she let’s it go – I never did think of that, Mickey, but, yea, point. So do you think you could kind of take … him on, train him, since you have experience?

Sure, Mickey agrees - I'd love that, finally rising up off the ground his coffee cup empty looking at Mae – but that training that was in another life now I’d have to train him a new way according to this life and I’ll need to keep him with me 24/7 for a while and train him my way. I have an idea of how to do it. I’ll call it, “Total Validation Training”.

Mae is thinking giddily, “Is it OK to keep him with you 24/7? Is that a real question OMG YES PLEASE!” but says – certainly, Mickey, whatever you think is best, thank you. But Mickey doesn’t respond he’s staring off into the copse of evergreen between them and the road eyes glazed over looking kind of lost – Mickey, she asks tentatively – Mickey, are you okay? She looks off where he is looking now as if to see what it is he is staring at but there's nothing but some trees - What do you see is there an owl in the trees?

Mickey startles back into recognition – ah, me what no I saw no not an owl really saw … everything … just everything … happens a lot these days. Apparently, Timothy Leary was mistaken. You really can do one too many acid trips - Laughing heartily – that was a joke, Ma! Mickey adds.

Mae thought it wasn’t exactly a joke and always wanted to glance away from the gaze of his steely blue eyes that seemed to look right down into her and always felt invasive somehow and she found herself saying out loud what she was in the middle of thinking - feels like you’re looking into my soul sometimes, Mickey, laughing a little nervously.

Mickey smiles now broader and with his eyes softening some – well yea, Ma, sure, cause I am. Where else would I look?

Mae let’s that go and asks – so you will, then, take on Freddie?

Sure, I will – handing her his empty coffee cup – if you’ll take that back up to the house, I’ll start right now, no time better than the present. He’ll accompany me in my chores from now on and he turns and yells down at Freddie – Jack! Jack! Jackie Boy! Jack! Jack! Jackie Boy! Jack! Jack! Jackie Boy! In a rapid staccato and Freddie wheels around instantly and charges up the hill at them and Mickey slaps his chest with the palms of his hands rapidly in cadence with the – Jack! Jack! Jackie Boy! repetition and Jackie leaps up from nearly ten feet out and flies into Mickey’s chest and Mickey spins around absorbing the impact holding now Jackie Boy in his arms saying – that’s my GOOD! BOY! O such a GOOD! BOY! who’s my GOOD! BOY! seeming to enjoy Jackie Boys very animated and very wet doggy kisses.

Mae shakes her head and walks back to the house, thinking, “Jackie Boy? WTF is that?!” and telling herself, “don’t ask, just don’t ask”.

Part Two

Total Validation is simple just what it sounds like nothing esoteric or complicated about it. Constant validation for just being. Dogs and children respond to it instinctively, adults not so much, many anyway, having gone so long and so profoundly invalidated, most unfortunately. It just requires directing love energy at the trainee. Jackie ate it up having had his fill of “don’t” and “stop it” and “goddamn you spastic little fucktard for the love of God man settle down” and etcetera. He knows exactly what those words and phrases mean just as would any pre-verbal child know. When he is sitting next to me, I lash out at him with a vigorous head rub, “who’s my GOOD BOY!” or scoop him up in my arms and hold him tight exchanging wet kisses, “such a GOOD BOY! yes you are a GOOD BOY! And OMG old Jackie Boy is responding perfectly giving, may I go there? Yes total validation to my Total Validation Training. He is an A+++ student!

How’s the training going? Bill asks, finding us eating lunch together in the barn.

I validate Jackie Boy with a head rub for eating his lunch – GOOD BOY! Jackie GOOD BOY! And he glances up from eating happily, ecstatically almost could say, utterly validated. To Bill, I say, See it’s working great!

Bill sounds a bit confused – well, Mick, what’s the training, I mean you know, the training part of it all?

O this IS the training part of it, Bill, I say positively.

Ah … Bill hesitates a second … OK Mick OK. Just seems like you have to reward him for doing something not just doing nothing, right, like positive reinforcement?

No, Nope, I explain, not really, that’s not at all what Total Validation Training is about. Total validation so yea the opposite of what you said, Jack gets constant validation without restraint or measure, simply for being, that’s the whole point of it.

Bill sounds a little uptight now – seriously what about the training part?

I don’t dig uptight so deflection is called for here – yea we’ll get to that, Bill, of course, that comes later first Jack here needs full immersion in validation for a while longer -

Bill interrupts me – Mick have you actually trained dogs before?

Well, I explain - like I told Mom -

Mae.

Right ... like I told her that was in another lifetime ago and now I have to do things differently so technically sure could be said that “I”’ have never actually trained a dog in my life (which makes me laugh and think it’s an inside joke about being reborn cracking myself up was an only child, you see, what can you do?) Bill I can tell doesn’t know what to say now?

I say – you have to give the training and Jackie Boy here some time, Bill. Don’t prejudge. He’s coming along beautifully. I have nothing but confidence in old Jackie Boy, rubbing Jackie's head affirmationally.

Bill turns and walks out of the barn without saying anything more then turns back around just outside and asks me – you know his name’s not Jackie, right?

Sure, I say, sure I know that, Bill. I got this, man. No worries. He’s in the best hands.

Part Three

Bill and Mae find Mickey cleaning out the goat stall and ask Mickey for a moment.

What’s up, guys? Mickey says, Jackie Boy by his side looking back and forth from them to Mickey. He’s a good bit calmer now. Mickey says excitedly – excuse me and directs himself at Jack – go play Jackie Boy go play! And Jack tears off into the goat pin racing around. Sorry, Mickey says – needs to burn off some energy, you know, cattle dog and all.

Well, Bill begins – Cattle dog exactly what we want to talk to you about.

Yes? Mickey says, looking at Mae. You OK, Ma, he asks her?

Mae nods affirmatively lets Bill talk – so, Bill says, thing is we have good friends who have a big cattle ranch and we’ve decided to give Freddie to them. They can actually use a Blue Heeler, you know, like make real use of him let him do what he is made to do -

Mickey interrupts – sure that’s great this little goat ranch is not enough for old Jackie Boy, he’ll love it there.

Mae speaks now – so you’re OK with it?

O yea, Mickey says sincerely, yea I already knew why I wanted to totally validate him, you know, it will be a little hard on him, I was thinking, moving there and all but he’s in great shape for it now.

Mae and Bill look at each other significantly. Bill says – OK Mick but you couldn’t have known about it cause we didn’t think of it until yesterday when Mae was talking to Anna and it came up?

Mickey says – excuse me a sec turning to call Jackie Boy back, under his breath mumbling, “yea never ends well when you tell them you’re psychic, so many assumptions” turning back to them as Jackie races up next to him and accepts a pat on the head. He tells them – it’s just logical, right, he’s a cattle dog and this is a small show goat ranch so I kind of figured something like this would happen and kind of figured best thing I could do is get him centered in himself so someone that knows how to can then train him to do the cattle work and all.

Mae and Bill both smile at this. Bill says – well that makes all the sense then, looking at Mae who shakes her head affirmatively adding herself – yes makes all the sense in the world.

Mickey smiles too now – yea, thank you for saying, adding –you have to really BE before you can really DO. Jackie Boy will knock it out of the park no doubt in my mind.

Transformation

I am become The New Creature
The old skin sloughed off at my feet
This new body a glistening wet glow