Mid-morning. You are sitting in the car waiting for Carol who is in
Kroger’s on Montgomery Road. The weather is cold and damp and there may be icy
roads later today. With the weather comes a bout of arthritis, which is making
you a bit sluggish. You waited until the Sunday paper arrived before this
errand and you both will have breakfast once home. Such is your morning. –
Amorella
0844
hours. There are lots of cars in parking with people later coming out with a
bag or two of groceries, not a whole cart full. Last minute items I suppose, or
essentials.
You had breakfast and read the Sunday paper.
You are bothered by your sugar being at a new high, especially since you have
been doing your exercises. Your knees and lower back are still uncomfortable
because of the weather and you are in wont of a morning nap before today’s
exercises. – Amorella
Why do you mention things I already know, Amorella. What is your purpose
pray tell?
To keep you honest, my man. To keep you
honest.
1324
hours. I had a nap and did my exercises.
Before that you did some hack work on Dead
Fourteen – Amorella
Yes, it appears too wordy. What was I thinking? I sometimes get lost in
words that are as a dream and upon awakening I find a word pile, an offshoot of
legalize without any real poetry nearby – self-screwing words draining slowly
into non-sense.
I think the horse left the barn door open,
boy. – Amorella
1810 hours. I have re-completed Dead 14.
Quite a change, boy, with the adding an
edited version of your eighties poem “Priestess” from the Pringle and Orndorff
poetry booklet (unpublished) “Take Two {Split/Personalities}” . – Amorella
It fits.
Add and post. – Amorella
***
(final) The Dead 14 ©2014, rho GMG.One
Merlyn
lay on his bed in his hut encapsulated the private spiritual environs of
heartansoulanmind. He grumbling, "I am no more a princely pebble than the
commonest of headstones." This questioning place is no different when
alive. Once in life a young druidess came to my lean-to shelter deep in the oak
forest and said, "I am searching for wisdom while attempting to define
love. I was told to seek you out, thus here I am."
I
remember smiling, mostly in surprise. I said, "What is your name
child?"
She
quite clearly, as clear as a mountain stream, politely and melodiously replied,
"Vivian. My name is Vivian."
In
a forest of hard wooded honesty I said, "Why did you repeat your name just
now? Are you not sure who you are?" She was either underwhelmed or
overwhelmed, I could not be sure.
I
stated directly to her clearly green-rimmed dark pupils, "You have to
define yourself, Vivian, before you can define either wisdom or love." How
I remember those young dark Celtic eyes. That was so long ago but her innocent
youth is still fresh.
Such
is a memory, but what does it mean for a human being not to be innocent? Why is Mother Nature innocent? Why are the lesser
animals innocent and why are we considered corrupt?
Attempting to
maneuver the future for our own betterment, is that innocence? That's what
these two rebellions of the Dead are about. The Dead lost the first Rebellion
and we won the second. Manipulation of self and others cannot co-exist with
innocence. Physically surviving life is not innocent not matter what the age.
None of us Dead are so innocent yet we survive in spiritual form. Why? We
continue whether we wish it or not. We make do even now in this
HeavenOrHellBothOrNeither. Even when we appear to sleep in stone it is only a
dream, a wishful thought of being solid again. What a strange thing to have
continuity within Nothing nor Neither. For millenniums people were anxious
about what happens after death; now, we are still anxious because nothing
happens unless we decide to direct it.
A
voice whispered from the corner of the roof down to the earth-like floor
beneath his bed. "Hello, Merlyn. I can't sleep either. Do you want some
company?"
"Is
this Brighid, daughter of The Dagda?" Once considered a Celtic goddess, he
thought.
"No,
this is Brigit, who was once your love, Merlyn."
"Before
Vivian."
"And
after, Merlyn."
Love
does not go away among the Dead, remember Merlyn. Love does not run nor does it
linger. Love is a moment never completely lost thus it has no right to
recovery. Love is always surrounded by innocence.
"I
read your thoughts, Merlyn," whispered Brigit. They are always lined in
kindness.
"You
could always read me. I think that is the reason we parted in life."
"Only
physically, Merlyn, and Here we are together."
"How
is this that we remain true to friends and lovers in this place?" He felt
her right arm touching his back as he lay on his right side.
"I
am forming as are you."
"Wishful
thinking," grumbled Merlyn as if he were half asleep.
"Just
as in life, my love. People are married to wishful thinking."
"In
life people are married too many a thought for life," responded Merlyn and
suddenly felt his patience growing and his back and her arm disappear into the
night.
He
turned over, opened his eyes and saw the empty wall with no roof above. He
blinked innocently to see the stars are out, and concluded, such is the lot of
we who are Dead. And, in a moment Merlyn lies fully dead, a sarcophagus, a
human spirit entombed untimed until Vivian’s once living voice flares in the
sluggish darkness:
I
am Priestess -- Guardian of the Great wheel.
My
blood flows in rhythm with the white of the moon.
I
hug the Oak bark hard and kiss the bright sun to yellow.
Slowly.
Apollo ignites me, and I conjure hot with wild timeless winds
Blowing
among ancient marble – tall stately columns
Rising
solid above our grassy Mother on this and other worlds.
I
am invisible to all those who are outside my head,
I
am boundless reality beyond the walls of the known universe.
I
am Priestess -- Guardian of the Great Wheel, I am Vivian.
Jarred
to half awake, dead Merlyn replies half of two thoughts long -- Can memory
alone be an enchantment? Is love alone endless?
***
You and Carol watched parts of the
Superbowl, mostly waiting for the commercials, and you have nothing in mind for
Diplomat and assume Diplomat has nothing in mind for you. – Amorella
2201
hours. You hit the nail on the head as usual Amorella. I try to imagine
Diplomat watching my h-dream:
***
. . . me seated behind the steering
wheel of a maroon 1948 two-door Ford sedan with a tan cloth interior. I turn towards
the back seat and ‘sense’ a clothesbasket overfilled with letters of the
alphabet. I am less than a year old and I hear a voice distinctly above me say,
“My name is baby.” [It is a male adult voice but not mine.] Outside the right
back car window I sense Diplomat observing the inside of the car taking notes;
she says, “This is where I begin. [Richard and the Baby are being treated as
separate entities when in fact they are one in the same. Richard realizes he is
Baby but does not associate himself with the name ‘Richard the Observer of Eyes
on the Box’. He would rather accept someone else’s definition of himself than
his own definition. Immediately he does not show trust in his own facilities,
in his own direct observations.]”
***
Your ‘imaging’
not Diplomat’s. Post. - Amorella
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