z- My little falling human?

06-13-04


I'm here at the library and I caught myself looking at the
clouds and the thought came to me as I watched a particular white puff
off into the distance- Would I be able to see a person fall out of that
cloud? Could I see him tumbling through that infinite blue down and
down and maybe see his parachute break open and have those parachute
oranges and blues and yellows and reds bursting out of him? Surely
there must be instances like that occurring with others. I mean, people
sky-dive all the time. Wouldn't it only be a matter of time till one
day, one person, gazing absently from a library window suddenly sees a
little human being falling through the sky? I sure would like to be
that person.


And below the wind is blowing yellow-green robust trees
silently around from my window and it's almost overwhelming when I
touch lightly, just for a second, on that surface of elusive reality
which holds that, wind going through trees, is an occurrence of
unfathomable wonder.


And the same thing happens at dusk, when the bare autumn
branches, splintering off into hundreds of threads headed for space,
cast a deep outline against the fiery sky. And it's just a tree and
just a sunset. And the two happen to fall in row together like a beaten
platoon, and together they are the intoxicant of poets, of the pounding
hearts that men and women who feel too much beat their lives against in
swooning rages. And I'm standing on the other side of that fence, like
a little boy looking on to something he can't join, and feeling that
wisp of chaos prickle lightly on my skin and knowing that the deadly
elements are out with those poor but privileged, beating and twirling
them into ecstatic oblivion; pounding them out like golden sheets to
melt away.


And I want to be in some solemn sky place. And I want the
creator to whisper the words to things I could only feel. And I want
the sky to wrap me like a cocoon; to nourish my unquenchables.