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by David Sparenberg
2017-02-17 10:42:44
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forest01_400_03My mind is full of images and rider of the rainbow-wind  Perhaps I am a king or one who sits at the king’s elbow and has his ear  My heart is full to overflowing: a goblet of the blood of suffering or a chalice of the wine of never ending love

Who or what I am I cannot say but this: If you see me in twilight I might carry a torch or the lantern of the sun or silver candles of eternal moonlight

I have lived in the spirit house of my own dreaming and been dreamed into breath out of nothingness by the mystery of near-distant and evolving divinity  First roots of my shadow-stirring are deep down like forked lightning in the dark fertility of this passionate Earth

Possibly I am a bridge or the points of contact from which bridges aspire into arches and traverse time and space - I cannot be accurate

I am full of the tales of monstrous outrage and punishment – a Yes a No - Who and whatever I am I become but a stitch in the tapestry of unknowing I merely go from here to here – through episodes of mists and islands

Images pass over me like a stone battered and bathed at the edge of the seductive sea  And I am carving out at the interface of stone and water moth-like words   Consider   No matter how much I am aware now or in the beads of now hereafter—how much vaster are echoes of my unknowing!

Perhaps I am no more than a whisper escaped out of silence of a phrase of naming forever misspoken Consider Who comes to the isles of discovery in name of the king - flesh tattered with traveling face lined with feats of misery

In this universe of choral narrative and beatitude the shaman disguised as epic poet arrives in the courtyard of listeners at twilight blind with the terror of birds and the magic of winged imagery

Perhaps I am the Taoist butterfly of ambiguous dreams and the feathers of ruby crafted snowflakes or dark storm tortured Odysseus windblown searching for the palace of Ithaka But there is self-overhearing self-overcoming! Danger—and one may yet become the world of myth and the burning dread in seraphic hands of archetype or prophecy: Penelope web-spinner…  And web spinning Fate

Perhaps I am king or who the king would be if he were me and slipped behind the arras of time or through the fog on rivers of forgetfulness and mountains of memory to the shining harbor where a hero’s adventure is homecoming and I am free to meditate on who I have become and who I will next be

There are paths in life that lead to healing and sights that lend themselves to poetry  Moments too pregnant with bubbles of eternity  Universes as brought to motion by the exhalation of a mask of God  I am such as these: one with my own vast otherness  Yet not of it  A glimmering mere glimmering pressed face to face with unbound mystery of cosmic radiance sailing somewhere between all and naught   Here in transit-spiraled I am lighted in my inward vision:  alchemist of mask making, dream maker’s jester and right hand man or fumble-thumbs  Or only one who imagines? A Quixote! Or one who only pretends

David Sparenberg
Revised version


Check David Sparenberg's NEW BOOK
THE GREEN TROUBADOUR A Source Book of Performance Ecosophy
is online now and you can download for FREE HERE!



David Sparenberg has also 2 more Books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"Life in the Age of Extinctions volume 2 – Threshold"
Download for FREE HERE!



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