Betwixt and Between

“It doesn’t matter,

But I’m telling you so you

Know.” Education

For me consists of

Polarity. If there is

A fact that I know

It is frivolous.

If I don’t know it, it is

Essential. If I

Answered the question,

They wanted it in different

Units. There was a

Typo. Twenty two

Catches snare me and I am

Broken. I cannot

Stand divided, I

Can be only one thing. I

Will tell my own truth.

Tethered

I want to run. I
Can’t. This collar on my neck
Catches me, holds me

Down. Each time it bites
My flesh, my spirit falls, I
Despair the hope of

Liberty. It will
Be for me no noose, but will
Become my anchor.

This is where I plant
My cornerstone, where I will
Build my strong tower.

No Martyr

Once did a young man

Declare that the tragedy

Of the world was

Wrong, and that he would

Fix it. Did he believe in

Himself? Sometimes. But

Not often. He had

Imbibed and lived a creed in

Which to be crushed by

The machine was a

Victory, representing

The end to the war.

Eventually he

Became a doctor and found

Himself a clockwork.

Would he spend his life

And his substance to turn back

The hands for one more

Moment? He wasn’t

That good, to die in service

Of a lost cause. He

Was selfish enough

To want a purpose for his

Life and work, to write

His name in the stars,

To stop the clock forever.

No martyr would he

Be. He would not burn

On another’s pyre. He

Would steal the sun from

The sky and hide it

In his pocket, to peep at

When he was idle.

The Wound

The beginning wasn’t a beginning, it was an ending; just an endless circle. It was complete, nothing needed to happen.

Something did happen. What was it, the moment in the everything, the potential, that kicked over, infinite space, folded in on itself, creating a change, beginning time?

Time began when space was divisible into “is”and “is not.” Was it a sin, or a delusion, or an illusion? They’re all the same.

Needless to say, it hurt. We still hear that scream every day, every night, throughout eternity. In our head, it’s a high pitched whine, around 1600 Hz. It’s the sound of time, of incompleteness, of an aching need for something that we can’t even name.

We think we’ll find something to salve this burn, but we never do. It just festers and rots. Then we think that if we find another who hurts like we do, it won’t hurt so bad. But ultimately, there have never been any like us, so we go on limping, alone.

Still we hope. We search. We inquire. We persist. One day we’ll find him, or her, or them, and we’ll all speak our truth to each other, and we’ll have found the words that bring us back into our circle. We’ll be one again.

Time will cease, and we’ll rotate on our axis, harmonious and lovely, we’ll orbit.

Aeolian

I learned how to see

Auras this week. Not read them;

I see clear haloes

Of shimmering flux

Above people’s heads. Today,

We operated

On a very sick

Woman. Her aura clung to

Her, and after she

Had anesthesia,

It rose to fill the ceiling

Of the OR. When

We waited to start

The surgery, I implored

Her silently to

Stay, just a little

Longer, not to leave us here

On earth alone. I

Hope she listened. She

Will awaken soon; my heart

Cannot bear more death.