Everyone You Meet Is Your Guru
Entering the isolation tank, he is looking forward to hours of floating in a lightless, soundless environment. The water is buoyant as it is infused with a thousand pounds of salt. And the temperature is 98.6. He only hears his heart beating and nothing else—total relaxation. He has no idea how much time has passed when ripples of water start moving beneath him. Then a light touch on his arm. He is sure his mind is creating this sensation. Continuing to relax and observe what is happening, he suddenly notices deep breaths around his ear. A quiet voice is whispering. The voice says, “You are mine.”
autumn dusk—
the last leaf captured
by the wind
Still, he does not panic and just thinks it is a lovely message from the universe. Then a hand rests on his chest. It is pressing down and is quite warm. As the hand keeps pushing the heat grows more intense. He wonders if this is what a heart attack is like. Suddenly his skin seems to be on fire and the pain becomes unbearable. He can no longer avoid these unexplainable perceptions. Moving quickly, he signals to the attendants to let him out. When he exits the tank, he is out of breath and trembling with fear. As he calms down, he realizes he must have been in a dream and is amazed at the power of the brain to create such realistic experiences. In the changing room, he dries off and starts to put on dry clothes. Looking down at his chest he freezes when he sees the print of a hand seared into his flesh.
dark seas—
the waves of desire
wash over me
Lafcadio
Drunken Houses
Wander any old town centre in the Netherlands, and you notice the way the old houses lean. Sometimes they have beams with pulleys attached that use that lean to help haul heavy objects, like furniture, to the top floors. It saves time and effort trying to maneuver the cumbersome objects up many floors along narrow staircases. You wonder sometimes just how far out those houses can lean.
drunken houses lean
over the street, the end one
precariously
D.C. Nobes
In the Abyss
When sperm whales eat squid, only the hard beak is left behind. Nothing to be buried or cremated. Just a lone beak on the ocean floor.
empath
the whale now
broken-hearted too
Susan Burch
What Goes Up
The master masons knew their craft and built,
but yet no spire feigned sky that did not fall,
and blazed by sun no blooms ‘gainst garden wall,
that by night’s darksome pleasure did not wilt.
No sword so keen to bloody to the hilt
that battle blunted failed to wound at all;
no martyr meeting other’s worldly gall
safe in God’s mercy had such sense of guilt.
For purity is of – not in – the world
like axioms and principles and rules
that change will leave unchanged or just not use;
yet, like a trowel or hammer, love’s a tool
creating lovers with but one concern:
how long their love another’s love will choose.
far away
even the fountain
looks like glass
Herb Tate
Initiation
huckleberry pancakes
for a birthday breakfast –
year’s end
It’s a brilliant, windy day. No clouds, dazzling snow. We set off in snowshoes rented from the inn. We do see the sign, but we notice a group of older men heading up Mt. Rainier on skis. They look like they know what they are doing. We follow. Around lunchtime, two young men rush down the hill. Their brother has just been buried in an avalanche. Frantically, we start to dig. Within minutes, we uncover the young man, just 17 years old, with our gloved hands. His brother is upset and takes off down the mountain. He is just seventeen years old! We have both taken CPR but never performed on someone real. I put my mouth to his; he is pale, blue, translucent, cold. My boyfriend does the timed compressions. The older men show up and remark “isn’t it a beautiful day?” They stand, looking at the mountain sky.
using the bellows
to try and light a fire
cold ashes
We are shoved away as a rescue helicopter arrives. Yelled at for being up there in the first place. We wait at the visitor’s center and later we drive the rental car to the airport. Then, there’s news on the radio: he didn’t make it. We watch people greeting each other before New Year’s Eve. All of them appear translucent, skeletal, skin and bones. Their joy in greeting each other is palpable.
still life photo –
a rosy mountain sunset
chimera
Colette Kern
Fate Laughs
During the Civil War, separated families at times found themselves in battle against friends and loved ones. In the fog of war, brother fought brother, father, cousin. The blood on the bayonet could be consanguineous.
blue vs gray twin
Yankee womb Rebel seed
two shots, single stone
JL Huffman
Ruby Slippers
They say you can never go home again because home is ephemeral. It doesn’t stay in the places I’ve lived or the furniture and things I once owned. It wanders around in what mustn’t be forgotten. It murmurs to me when I sit still amongst my past. It pitter pats when I’m least expecting a flash from days gone by. But mostly, I carry it with me wherever I roam. So I can’t return because I never left, and the only home I’m looking for is within.
garden snail
looking for shelter in
the shades of dark
Eavonka Ettinger
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