6 Demons in the Shrine

The first demon in the Shrine was Planning
No, wait, Planning is the second demon
Time is the first demon
It looked like one of those old timey pocket watches
A thing with a face and hands but no arms or legs
Two circles that start out looking like the infinity symbol (∞)
But sliced into 24 English divided pieces of pie

The second was Planning
It looked kinda like a flying pencil in need of sharpening
It said things like, “If you figure what you are going to need the night before
You can secure resources and then how can you fail?”

The third demon looked like pang of broken mirror – Selfishness
You know, the way that you know ‘you’ down to a molecular level
The way you have your own opinion
Your own conclusions that you must cling to
no matter how mistaken you might be
Kinda the way your body will reject a given heart
and kill you thinking it’s saving you

The forth demon was hard to see if you looked at it directly
It was a kind of vapor – Anxiety
The belief that if you worry enough you’ll change the way things go
Interest on money you didn’t know you needed
Mileage on your tired soul without even doing anything
And failing that
at least others will want you because you care too much

The fifth demon was a game show called “The Land of Fine Appliances”
where the one who dies with the most toys wins
A phosphor screen and if you looked at it too long
you’d eventually see that its actually a rat race
one that only rats can win

The sixth was the bloated body of an old man who drown
Reeking of death and really decayed seaweed
A sinister croaking and turbid waters spill from its everopen mouth
It weaponizes the unseen demon – Fear
It seeks to poison the dragons of Fire, Air, Earth and Water
It is the way contagion looks at you as an undeveloped resource
The way disease looks at you like a gift, just for the taking
Divine Right and all that

The Price of Beans

She looked doubtfully at the green beans. “I really don’t like these ones, they got the strings.”
“But they’re maw maw beans.”
“Well, why can’t she just buy beans like everybody else.?”
“Oh, she can. She just doesn’t want to. Eat.”
She regarded in the offending vegetables with a dour expression. She took another sip of her drink, now the serious negotiations will begin. “What’s for dessert?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just wondering . . .”
“Oh, I figure you’re trying to decide if the dessert is worth the beans. Am I right?”
She says “No. . .” but I think, Yes

Senhora poeta

She says
“It’s the silences that get me. . .
Thought of that myself.
Pretty radical, huh?”

I notice that fountain pens
(the cool poet’s pens)
Stain my fingers

She says
“Though sometimes I really need them.
Silences, I mean.”

I can picture the silences
you only get in winter forests
when it’s really rainy

She says
“It’s the absence of touch that I crave.
I miss the things I don’t see.
It’s the stuff that we don’t see
that gets us.
Did you see what I did there?
Hyperbole and Juxtaposition like a boss.”

I think about the way dawn smells only like itself
Simple in its complexity
No deep deep seated emotions
that must be plumbed

the Frankenstein Monster and an Angel Just Over His Right Shoulder

He says

The mob has chased me to the tower
and they are carrying torches
and pitchforks
crying out for my blood
because they are bored
and while i could fight my way through them . . .
i don’t want to hurt them . . .

She says

For those who do not know you
mock you
taunt you
For those who refuse to open their eyes
Are they worth protecting?
Are they worth saving?
Are they worth more than you?

I say Not!
Fight your way through them
Savagely make their blood flow
Paint the ground red

They are not worth a life
If they cannot see the life before them

He says

There is the rage in me
But i am their sworn protector
and while they may
or may not deserve my blood
i burn it like oil
in the lamp of my darkness

If i can touch one heart
if i can change one path
away from the path to hell
then . . . then . . .
perhaps it is worth it

She says

Let the rage burn
A single female stands before you
Her hand on her heart
Her tears flow with sorrow
for your soul
You .. a soul so bright
showed her light
showed her there are others
out there … like us

No longer burn your own blood
shed theirs and burn it before you
show them you are no longer
a slave entrapped in their selflessness

You have shown so many your light
you darkness

Show them who They are
Show them they no longer
Control You

He says

Then you have harvested the tears so many have sought
how could I have known they would be tears of joy

She says

Tears of joy
fall on the leaves of the forest
the nymphs collect such tears
these nymphs see them
as precious jewels
Jewels so precious
more than any diamond, sapphire, amethyst
Nymphs collect these tears
Each drop an individual jewel to be cherished

Each teardrop is brought before the Sun God
They kneel and pray before Him

The Sun God looks closely at each precious teardrop
Feels what joy has brought such a tear
It is then, just then He will decide
the precise shape and clarity this teardrop
will become a jewel so cherished over any Gem

Blankets and Throws

She’s standing outside the backdoor

Eyes so shiny
(crying or cold?)
Blushing cheeks
Nose runny
(at least she has gloves on)
And she’s smiling

I try to appear stern
which only makes her laugh
and it has been a long
long time since she’s laughed

Laughter light and bright
as this fresh fallen snow
under a morning sky gone cyan

Blue sky after a month of fog
and rain
and dreary. . .

Wonder is born under such skies

She says
“I have walked this night dry
Walked so many nights
and yet. . .
Dawn always comes as a surprise.”

She looks to the woods
and there is a longing in her posture

She says
“The birds
they always get it first.
I’m out there in the dark
running into trees
and one of them sees the first photon of light
and they go raving crazy.

They are a rioting total ruckus,
Is that even a word?”

I shrug
(it is now)

She says
“The first time I heard birds do that
I was scared something was wrong
but now I know they’re all just glad
to have lived through the night.
They get so excited.”

I go back into the house and retrieve
her favorite Celtic blanket/throw
She hasn’t moved
I drape it across her shoulders
She leans into it’s warmth

She turns to me and that smile is worth
a thousand endless nights

She says
“And everso gradually, the perfect symmetry of a starless night
divides itself into things.
Shadows become objects in the mists.

Moments before I could only find things by touch
but with the coming light. . .”
And she leans into me

She says
“Thank you.”

I say
“For what?”

She says
“For loving me enough
to stand here in the snow in your booty slippers.
And for loving me by not telling me what to do.”

I sigh

Even in this world of white death
the hope under the snow sings to me

She shares her blanket/throw

To Be No Longer Alone

I’m always uncomfortable
when first meeting women of Aspect
Afraid of what they’ll see when they look deep into my soul

I am to understand that I am very spooky
Most women of Aspect become uncomfortable in my presence
Removing themselves from the room before they even get past my eyes
Some brave souls who ventured in
but chickened out before they got too deep
And who can blame them?
After all. . .

Somehow I know
without knowing how I know
that this one is strange, beautiful
and totally protected by her naivete

Perhaps the thing that has broken the others
is the lack of innocence they bring with them
I’ve been told my mind is a circus fun house of distorting mirrors

She stands as I enter the reading nook off the main concavity of the Library
Someone has talked with her so she doesn’t offer her hand

I step back a pace
straighten my posture
lift my gaze
We eye-lock and all the hair on my neck stands
This one is not running away
She is totally present but holding herself in reserve

This has not happened before

I hear my mouth say, “What is your name?”
Her faces becomes a Hindu Mandala
A kaleidoscope of Sacred Art
An undulating universe of Sacred Geometries in collision

I can see hundreds of fractal energy collectors reaching out into the nook
curling into the surrounding quantum flux
but all staying a respectful distance from me

This has never happened before

I feel without knowing that I am becoming
a rendering of a Native American Sand painting
Something along the lines of a vortex of fire

Two complex
ever convoluting works of art confront one another
A thing I once knew as my voice says
“Why have you come here?”

Across oceans of time and wind
something like her voice says
“What is the proper way to address you?”

I say
“Speak in any fashion that pleases you.
I am fascinated with your command of Aspect.
How have you come by this level of control?”

She giggles
And that strikes me as hilarious
I laugh for the first time in a century or more
I know that our mirth is fracturing parts of the nook where we stand
and those around us can’t react fast enough to protect themselves

I weave a shielding around us before any more damage occurs
I say

She says
“I have traveled far to find you. . .”
And the entirety of her different forms and the places they’ve been
plays throughout her image.

For reasons I can’t fathom
I convolute my image to show some of the places I’ve been
Some of the things I’ve created
Some of the battles. . .

She is reeling
She is frightened
She will not allow me near her

I pull back to a respectful distance

We will crash if I fail to act
I change the space we occupy
We are floating above a world that reminds me of Jupiter
But we are very far from home

I remain quiescent while she recovers

To the best of my understanding
this has never ever happened before

Her human face congeals in the center of her form
I follow suit

She says
“What are you?”

I say
“I have no idea.
And before you ask,
I have no idea what you are either.”

She says
“I always knew I’d find you
but I never knew it would be like this.”

In silence we watch the complex cloud formations
roiling across the face of the planet below
She turns to regard the stars

She says
“May I touch you?”

I say
“You may try
I have no idea if it will work or not.”

A tentative tentacle originates where her hands should be
I watch in utter fascination as it moves toward me
carried like a whisp of smoke on the currents of the Universe

It brushes my cheek
Soft as a shadow

I slip into fast time out of reflex
I see juxtaposed harmonics building within my form
and in the nick of time I change my structure to dampen
the chords building through out me

I am certain that my form has become very complex

She says
“Oh my God
Are you OK?”
and I laugh for the second time

She says
“I can tell that they are very worried.
Perhaps we should go back.”

I say
“Or we could explore the Universe together.”

She laughs and takes us back to the nook

Things look a bit singed
but no real structural damage
No one is in attendance

We return to human form
and it feels strangely comforting

I reach to touch her cheek
and she blushes

I blurt out
“I have been so alone. . .”

She places her hand over my heart
and whispers
“You need never to be alone again”