Friday, September 16, 2016

River of No Return

Aries (12 Women)

You did not ask to come but were unraveled in a cavern somewhat unwelcome. The walls housed an expectation of life beyond the anatomical, beyond the biological. Fierce determination, or complete comfortability with the space of more than living. Always present it is, often without question. Systems hold nothing you can grab on to. Fitting is not a useful word.  At the horizon you will see yourself clearly. Nothing travels that cannot be understood or endured. Platitudes are pointless compasses leading to a fetid concrete wall. Stear to the left of them. The space is invaded by non consequential reverberations that will only force an eviction. Your quest lays in unquantifiable currency little understood by the general public although you may find an audience there. Forget signposts. They will revel nothing but how fresh the paint is. Trust the fear of falling. It is the gauge you must live by only because that is what was allotted.

On the street corner, the ghost of the beggar boy reminds you of your origins. He has disappeared into corporate living but essences can never be liquidated. He is replaceable no matter where in the world you are. Meaning transcends current fashion. This sentence will not sell but shall the sold soul bring comfort or gain in the end? Understand who you are. The price is stolen, the balance sheet a disaster. Forget this reality. Stay in the realm of who you must be. To be the other wastes time. In the end the profit will disappear anyway. When everyone leaves the table, do not think you are alone. Do not feel forsaken. This is your natural habitat.

When rivers burst from the north, all of life washed away in a cascade so deadly, all thought the end was inevitable. But still this held no truth–the prediction had no consequence. The light and sound, ethereal and tormenting, could never be reported accurately by the media. Poets had the day straight. The dawn almost missed, the possibilities almost lost. The small voice, almost buried in the thunder moved past the catastrophe, past its own death, and is still heard millenniums later. Still revered regularly. Who remembers the winner at roulette? They change by the second. Beware the instant minute. It’s eternity that counts. When the rainbow of existence splays across a fetid landscape, it will be missed by the objective makers. Radiance is fleeting. Only the watchers perceive this thing so unmarketable, so disregarded that is barely exists but in the heart of the seer. Even if only one sees it, it will live on. The herd never carries water in the desert. They are too busy at the gaming table. One must pick a side, true to their nature, and take what comes of it.

You may shout from the rooftops of your displeasure and loneliness. As long as you go back to the keyboard, the pencil, the wax, the paint, the needle and thread, all will be worthy at the opening of the river when the water turns red, the iridescence astounds, the day goes on and retribution may or may not be acquired. The sight is all that matters.

Author thanks the photographer of ram retrieved from internet search 9/15/16. (wordpainter81)

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