FEAR

(photo:  mine, Oaxaca,Mex)

FEAR

I dreamed I stabbed a deer and laid it on its side. It spoke to me and did not die.

FEARS

return

over & again

close the door

they seep

across your threshold

seal the windows

they find their way

as drafts

spray all the repellent

you and your wizards can devise

and they will dress themselves

from your closet

ignore them

and they will pester

                  your sleep.               

   *

Open your arms

watch them

step forward  stumble back

unsure of the tune

you’ve called

Set the table

and they will

gorge themselves

into

skeletons

and

smoke

Breathe easy

the wind

will

carry

them

away

I dreamed I stabbed a deer

and laid it on its side

It spoke to me, and did not die.

RW

Guanajuato, Mex.

11.23.2019

Artemio Rodriguez

WRESTLING WITH GOD (Heaven can Wait)

(photo:  iStock)

WRESTLING WITH GOD

(Heaven can Wait)

I Wish         I Want

I Need

Pinned

to the

mat

You

feel

the

Sacred Heart

All

Life

All

Living

Beating

against
your

chest

Pinned

to the

mat

God’s Breath

The

death

of

everything

slides

across

your

face

Before

you

wake

a

pine

ladder

balanced

against

blue sky

shimmers

&

disappears

and

you are

free.

RW

Guanajuato, Mex

11.23.2019

DEPARTURE

(photo:  mine, Tzintzuntzan, near Patzquaro, Michuacan)

DEPARTURE

Sorrow

born of loss

Loss

the truth

of everything

Knowing this -

freedom.

Death arrives

and discovers

there’s nothing

to steal

You depart

on a breath.

RW

Guanajuato, GTO

11.06.2009

With some thanks to Kris Kristofferson:  Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.

There is something about Mexico that focuses me on the sadness of living, but I don't consider sadness to be a negative emotion.  Emotions are not susceptible to value judgments, they're here and then they're not.  I appreciated the I Ching whenever the commentary "No Blame," came up.

It seems that no matter where I am in this country, in the city, a village, or the country, the ground is so much nearer my feet.  Even under layers of cement, or cobblestone, the country’s body calls out, and with that the progress of life toward death. 

You can hardly turn a corner without reminders.  There are skulls everywhere, sugar skulls, pictures of skulls, posters, designs on t-shirts, people dressed as skeletons.  Dia de los Muertos explodes, but the fragments don’t go away when the holiday is over.

Death is every day. 

Years ago, in Chicago, I read Carlos Castenada’s works about Don Juan, the Mexican sorcerer.  I took a few lessons from those books, and one especially – death is always at your shoulder, so is sadness.

BEING DEAD

(photo:  detail from a public poster) 

BEING DEAD

Is there such a state?

Anyway, it’s the easy part.

When you’re dead

it’s either better

or it’s not 

at all.

Being

that’s the hard part

alone

harder still

alone and poor

harder yet

to have

outlived

them all

hardest of all.

As if sorrow were a rock

adamantine

a mass of

bound

energy

pushing on itself

waiting for the precise tap

upon the fault to break the heart

to smithereens.

RW

Patzcuaro, Michuacan, Mex.

11.02.2019