Let me show you something;
I went to visit my ancestors last night, the equal night, and while I did find them there, in their usual spot among the ice-age’s greeting party, they were scattered and restless in unusual, unexpected places.
I saw a million eyes returning me to the search. In dead leaves below, right in front of me, they curled and twisted and twitched and peeked at me. It was clear they didn’t recognize me.
Then my eyes were swept outwards and saw the ground covered in watching, the extent of my sight to wood’s horizon, all directions save the path, in and out, not back and/or the forth through time and equanimity.
In the distance there, there where their expressions are muted to undecipherable. Imperceptible.
The eye’s community becomes an anonymous crowd, like the audience at a Def Leopard concert.
So went my intentions and my foci, dragged outwards from the circle when I decided to leave my gift there, where, here?
Here or there where I wedged red wads. Offering of dreams into a seam, outlying ledge, an instant as distant as grandmother’s bones, names and remains remain unknown.
Our father’s mothers were brownish-red, it’s said, tiny, dark, and forceful with black in her eyes and hawk in her heart.
Who and what was has disappeared from us, all eyes into leaves, the outer edge of family.
It was the middle-aged oak spoke to me. He or she and both of us said, but gave no words to me. Instead, just shouted the same old examples.
Parasitic vines were anchors, yet she flew loosed with her crown, and that’s how I knew my grandmother had been there, had done her hair, and now she hid from me in leaves there, and everywhere.
Foretold frayed ends showed me what time was, was pointless when struggle returns again.
Will be, is, was, and because it points me towards truth of balance between striving and accepting, facing the inevitable any way we choose to go.
Sing to me coyote-family. When I need you most. I am so, almost jokingly, fucking lost you see?
Come and find me, maybe escape me. Whatever there may be. Release me, turn me over to the tree. Custody.
Teach family, because I never did believe what people told me.
People surround me. I don’t love their life, and Jesus?, nice idea… No difference. You’ll have to show me.
Beyond the ones that are here, we weren’t always lost. Once upon a time, how else would we not be here now?
The problems in penance or ignorance, meaninglessness rewards the blind.
The council of cedar-stumps, resurrection within preservation of the whole of the holly. It fell, I failed.
I see it, see that it tried to tell me. I with my best-ever help, raised it, it reached me. Persistence. Every kind of owl, and every tree, every season, they’ve tried to teach me.
My fuzziest friend licks my hand, animal-blessing.
Coyotes, they see me. learning to know me. Movements in moments inched.
We’re closer every year, just not in the helping.
They don’t seek converts, they required sacrifice. They and I and them that wait, await bones. I see it now, see it the same. Not bones, but essence.
They welcome spirit, but have no use for folly, coyote-harmony.
Our otherwise ancient force never before did seek the exploiter, but this time, in the interests of balance (god), did seek give-and-take.
Spiders in a mine, over time, light removed from eyes to night, forgotten sight.
Becoming blind, remain, reside. Eternal night and liquid earth, communal stars collide. External truths within the light of human sight.
I asked for clarity and assistance towards the path. Along it on my return I became aware that the trees were dying, and the oak’s example told me that it was just a matter of time.
I followed my path to sleeping and just ahead of my dreams, I prayed for death. Three times, maybe more.
I awoke disappointed, here still, but I know the prayer will be answered.
I just hope I don’t have to see too much more as a human-being on planet earth in this time of connected disassociation. I don’t know how you all stand it. Why we go along with it.
I have chosen that type of death over denial, I have expedited the inevitable.
I know you. You alone become closer, a more comprehensible thing as time passes.
I know you from dreams, one in particular with conscience fully altered.
I saw the end there, and I have been reminded of its truth from visions. For the past twenty-five years now, maybe a little more.
I am aware that it is not the end, there isn’t one, and that has probably kept me from finding you on my own terms more than fear or concern for other’s feelings.
I know it like the ripples in the pond. It’s not necessarily forever, right? It most likely couldn’t be, could it? It depends on the pond, right?
You don’t remember it afterwards. Your own isn’t in the front of your mind once you hit that tremendous wave/wall of peacefulness.
That’s how it works, but since I haven’t been there yet, physically, you can’t listen to me. Not really.
You can’t take me too seriously because you can’t tell. Because you can’t.
I’m only telling you that I’ve been there. I can’t show you. I can’t bring you with me. I don’t even really want to.
But I will tell you that death is not the end spiritually.
There will be an echo after you die. Those who know you and love you, or at least think of you occasionally will renew the spirit you had in life by giving it energy.
Pretty simple that part, but what happens next gets harder, wilder.
Your energy, the left-overs, will go into many, not just beings, not just humans.
The energy will go where it can, where it is wanted, where it is needed and where it is easy and natural for it to go,
Go where there is a pathway. good and bad, everyone. Everywhere.
There will be a sadness created by a familiar pathway, created by the next entity that possesses your essence.
When you feel the bottom, you can’t explain it, that’s part of it.
When music or sunset brings you tears, swells your throat, that is the sadness left over from the spirit of our ancestors.
There is a great deal more, but that’s all I know well, and you followed me here, so I will leave it at that.
That’s enough anyway.
You learn a lot at the end. How good you are, how good I make myself seem, we won’t be satisfied, that’s why we’re together.
I’ve seen it enough now, if you enjoy your life to death, really live it, you will go quick and relatively easy, easy forever.
If you pine and wallow, tortured by existence, you are paying a penance.
You’ll be forced by fear, the unconscious knowledge, those around you, feeding it, fearing you.
Society of individuals paying every minute. Pay-per-veiw lives unlived, unloved.
Warning: it’s not only the miserable that live so long, too long they cling too fiercely.
It’s also the lost to the love of life, and love will run away from you so fast that the people you leave behind will be angry and jealous of your passing…’lucky bastard!’