Truth Like Silence

Truth, like silence, never be known so intimate
Like never written, invisible parables of the Promised Land
Bloated, fat on milk and honey




Melodies, lost among the crying out
Like children, torn from their mothers teat
Explode…

Steven Hawking: Timetravel And All Those Things That I'm Too Small For

I just sat and read some Steven Hawking…


I just sat and read some Steven Hawking. I just sat and learned about the world. I learned the nature of time and space but still feel lost, so much more so now than ever. I wanted to understand. I read all the words, some of them twice.

Maybe Steven Hawking isn’t one of those people that you read with the intention of really understanding, but rather with an intention to at least gain an insight into the over all picture.

I mean, it’s not like anyone ever told me that kind of thing before - about the universe and time-space and all. Of course, I took the basic Astronomy classes in university; all the terms were no problem. It was the words in between the terms, the things connecting them together, the theory involved. I can still feel it, just wrapping itself around my mind. HEAVY....Choking all remaining thought with its burden.

I just sat and read some Steven Hawking. I don’t know if I will be doing that again.

People have always told me that I have my fathers smile:

slightly toothy, always leaning a little to the left.
People have always told me that I have my fathers eyes:

blue and grey, deep like a well,

the left one slightly larger than the right.
People have always told me that I have my fathers wits:

Mind like a trap, a cynical humor that never falters, never fails.
People have always always told me...you're just like him...

you're just like him...

you're just like him...

I'll never be whole again.

Windy Cries for Family Ties....

Solemn
I wonder when this train of thought
Will go barrelling past
or right off tracks
and then.......

Explosions in the distance.
Howling winds and rain like weights
POUNDING!
Down on rooftops
'Til we all just wish this thing would end.

Safer here.
Sitting silent reading in the evening
Wishing only you could be here
Holding me in comfort,

And all the while
The wind it HOWLS
And all those left outside are blown away.

In America, this land of dreams, there are no simple answers; one can only hold on to the hope that one day all men will be able to walk down the street without fear, that all men will find an outstretched hand in their times of need.

Different Means Difficult

It can be done....
It can be done....
It can be done....
I just can't do it....
I just can't do it....

Stranded here.
Sitting,
Staring at those buzzing lights
And all their artificial green green glow.

Stranded here.
Staring,
Soaking in the sights and sounds
Of clicking heels on faded speckled tile.

Stranded here.
Waiting,
Watching hours second hands
Go round and round and round and round and round

Stranded here.
Watching,
Wishing that there was a way
To walk on out, call this the end.

Rio GRANDE.....Gorge

That desert sun so high above and yet so close, so close - baking and burning with fury unrivaled. Nothing moves, save the wind - dry and dusty, carrying with it the sweet smell of desert sage - and the occasional brown lizard breathing deep, drinking in the dryness....truly this is his land.


Breathe deep now.....deeper....deeper.....deeper.....deeper


Descent: 500 feet, 600 feet, 700 feet


One and a half miles zig zag zig zag down across the face of the scar. 880 feet below the rim....water. Cold as ice beneath that sun that chokes everything.


But it's a DRY heat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Splash! Into the stream, raging river as it were, gloriously cold....sucking the wind from within my lungs. GASP!!!! And it comes back as quick as it left. The current pulling me now, left from the vantage point of anyone watching from the shore. Downstream, faster than I can swim.....go with it. Let it wash over my sun scorched body and carry me effortlessly down, down, until eventually TEXAS again...but no, Texas was for another time.

This is NEW Mexico. Wild Rivers and all that. Land of reds and yellows and browns and greens all swimming in an ocean of sand and sandstone and limestone and granite and all those volcanic rocks for which I have no names.


I climb up and out of that cool drink. I sit with my back against a lone Willow tree as he leans over, stretching his fingers to lap up that cool water. Lifeblood of this land. Water. Shade and Water join together to cool me to the core. An oasis cutting north to south across this place.


I find myself dry within minutes of emerging from the water and begin my hike back to the top of this place. Up and Up. 100 feet, 200 feet. Up and Up. Winding back and forth along switchbacks and narrow little straights. Pausing now and again to catch my breath. The exertion on the trip back to the top, fighting gravity now....Up and Up....much more.....up and up.....difficult....up and up....than the way down. 300 feet. 400 feet. Exhaustion. Legs burning with the strain. 500 feet. 600 and 700 feet.


Up still another 100 feet or so, I can see over the top. One more switchback and I am over the ridge, exhausted. I lay myself upon the sand, wet now with sweat running down my brow and my back, running in pools and streams down my arms and chest.

I breathe deep that dry desert air.

I turn and look back across that expanse that I now know so well.

I am content.