Musings From The Porch: The Storm & The Vigil

aesa

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!” – Hunter S. Thompson

A year ago I wrote about sitting in a coffee shop in downtown Chicago, watching stories of the world unfold. The organized chaos of that day is starkly contrasted by the disorganized calm I experience now, sitting on my porch in the Indiana countryside, not so much watching the world go by, but rather -feeling- it go by. The occasional car, truck, or tractor rumbles along our ragged stretch of cracked and worn asphalt, but other than that, it’s a fairly sedate existence out here. To say it’s quiet is both an understatement and a falsehood, illustrating the contradictory nature of life.

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Center

Around me
            a revolt of life
                        color
                        and sound
                  the fury of being
            and the peace of
                        home –
 
                                    you,
                        in the center,
            surrounding me,
                        stillness in motion,
                        an easy calm;
 
                                    passing through this                 
                        veiled existence
            in a revolution
of being who I am
            there is
                        you.

Valkyrie

In you I find my undoing,
void of being sought
in the chaos of living;
that you have chosen me
and allowed me to be
all that I am not,
and carried me past the edge
of all I thought I was
makes me yours.
 
And I am yours,
as I am,
surrendered
to you
in your embrace,
and the anger
of your love,
and the mercy
of your wrath.

Falling Away

But for my soul
I’d have nothing left,
and even that
I have given away
to a nameless muse;
my heart has been bled
upon the page
and in whispers
tithed to a pale goddess,
bathed in scarlet
by my own hand.
And should the shadow
consume what remains
after I have given all
I pray that in the chaos
of the void
I may find myself again.