Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Acknowledgement


When the mud starts settling
When the clear water surfaces
When you can see the polished pebbles
And grab them with care,
When you think you can follow the water
To see where the creek goes, and do so without fear,
Then the healing is ahead.

To the Bear, and to the Raven, who showed me the way.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Under the village tree

Under the village tree on certain warm days, the barista with a sense of atmosphere that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, will pull out his writing and music machine that spurts tropical songs in the language of Cervantes, and if you give him two words will sprout rosaries of two minutes poems for you.
-Under the village tree at the round table you will also find Bill the turtle who, carrying his house on his back, was trying to grow a transmission tree out of it, to finally find out that if he wanted the transmission tree to grow in his house, he had to set it down by the Skagit river, for there, and there only, lies the fertile silt that allows Transmission trees to grow and thrive. Transmission trees are a delicate, demanding species to grow, but if you are patient enough and obstinate enough, and God knows Bill the turtle is, then when the Transmission tree finally grows and blooms, it can take you to remote lands planted with guitar trees and song trees, watered daily by children and gypsies.
-Under the village tree you’ll also see Jim and his time machine, a memory box located in a membrane inside his skull, which keeps memories of times gone, the way our grandfathers used to do. If you are there on a good day, Jim will cough up bits of these and make you travel back in time. Jim sometimes brings with him his dog Quila, that has a map of the US on her flanks, which is in a pretty advanced state of decomposition, and stands as a gloomy prophecy.
-Under the village tree, you will find the patron, Troy the druid, who amorously roasts rosaries of dark beads brought by mule from Costa Rica or Brazil, and will tell you of the wizard talents it takes to make the precious beads reach the perfect shade, and how then they turn into a magic nectar. Troy the Druid goes in pair with Charity, a creature with the voice of a bird fallen from a tree, whose mission is to tame invasive bamboo trees and attract bees who are persuaded that she’s covered with pollen, information yet to be verified. You can recognize Charity as she is usually diving into the bamboo forest with a machete, with a slow, patient determination, and every now and then will too, release a sigh of contentment after each battalion of bamboo is topped down.
-Under the village tree you may also encounter Bob the inspired carpenter, who has been busy for ages building the perfect woodshed, a lifetime project requiring lots of thoughtful meditation, patiently gathering and harvesting the materials. Maybe a little Jesus will end up in that woodshed.
-Under the village tree you’ll see John the Greek mariner, who after drinking the dark roast concocted by Troy the druid and artfully served by the barista with a sense of atmosphere who knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside, will be transported on a flying carpet to the islands of Greece and Crete, under another village tree with a shot of ouzo, and release a sigh of contentment.
-Under the village tree you’ll also meet Mary-Lou the fairy queen, discreetly elegant, a diaphanous creature with rainbow crystals growing out of her ears and blue sapphire eyes.
-Under the village tree you’ll encounter Fred, the obstinate dazibao writer, who will hand deliver his pages to Troy’s roastery, to be read while sipping the sacred dark nectar made by troy the druid and served by the barista with a sense of atmosphere that knits fire gloves and sets exotic flower extravaganza on the round table outside.
-Under the village tree you will see Pat the tree dweller, who moulds out of his tree gnarled gnome benches that at night will speak all of the forest’s voices and change shapes for the true believers.
-Under the village tree on some days you’ll also see George the gladiator, who never departs of his helmet, even indoors, for whom we should build an arena so he can finally be at peace, maybe on the site of the defunct fishery.
-Under the village tree you’ll meet Janet skullbone,usually arriving there on her silver high horse, an artist who squirts strange iridescent flowers and magic creatures that she brings back from her night dreams, by which means? I have yet to discover.
- Under the village tree, you may, if you're lucky, also see a white haired, white bearded character, Mikie,who's usually either sleepwalking across town or deeply asleep under the tree. But he has a very good reason for that, for he is, - and that's a scoop- a reincarnation of Noah. I know that for a fact since he's just dormant,and otherwise taking care of people's pets, getting them ready for the next deluge.
- Under the village tree you'll often see The Tasmanian devil and his chauffeur, Rick, who has long ago abandoned the idea of wearing his uniform and is easily recognizable by a looong, expandable haircut, -you know, like those Barbie dolls, you pull, and the hair grows- so an expandable haircut, and each week Rick cuts a few of the longest to serve as guitar strings, for as a genuine Gypsie, he posesses a guitar that, equipped with Rick's hair, whines endless ribbons of highly addictive Blues songs. Beware of The Tasmanian Devil though, as while his chauffeur distracts you with his songs, the beast usually sneaks out your bread to bring it home on the deck of his boat, where he started growing a bread tree a few years ago after sneaking out bread from my place, the problem is the bread tree has now grown quite a bit and demands loaves of bread to be fed with, otherwise it threatens to shave Rick's hair, which is his breadwinner. So Rick is condemned to slave labor, nourishing his guitar with his silver hair so it can sing the ribbons of Blues songs, and he has to employ his beast to steal bread to feed the bread tree, otherwise the tree...Life is a vicious circle.

Monday, September 14, 2009

A cotton blanket is spread out above,
Layers of muslin veils and cotton balls,
Incandescent with the last juice of the sun,
Cotton embers soon turning purple anthracite,
Stretching out endlessly,
A foretaste of Eternity.