World on Fire (Lost Boys)

We part the veil on a killing sun. Stray from the straight line on this short run. The more we take, the less we become.” – Sarah McLachlan & Pierre Marchand

For I knew in this world of fire it was my destiny……Still the “world was on fire and it was more than I could handle.” *

The phantoms accompanied me through the real forest to the line of demarcation, that which divides the body from the craving. They were muses, if not daemons, and at times they settled upon my skin as if to travel there.  They thought my soul a rest from the long smoke-filled pathway. We walked on to find the shroud. That veil which separates life from the world on fire, and hurls the soul into the blue forest. They whispered that they had been “Lost Boys” too. Unbound in other creations, their worlds scorched by the burdens of fallen men. So, I listened to them, as we passed by the seared headstones near the trail. Those graves of grandfathers, and pioneers, missionaries filled with evil and good will alike. Males of authority, bastards without a story of where or when. Rich and poor men. Those men known to a world on fire, without their boyhood name. Cut in two by lack of identity. A timidity of soul before the vale. Afraid to jump, or believe, and I walked hurriedly by, for I did not wish to know them, or be as them.

The apparitions with me, poked me with memories, as I stumbled through the ash filled undergrowth, reminding me that the delineation boundary was hidden at times, as if G_D wears a mask. I felt myself humbled, bruised, and I did not wish to be hurt or lost anymore. I quickened my pace, as if in doing so I might eliminate those questions that look for hidden responses, when the answers reside in the question itself. As the burning trees consumed the oxygen around me, and in a state of desperation I begged the specters which gave me haunt to know their names. I wished to know them, and with that acquaintance, I alluded myself to think that there was magic. A quickened as it might be. A mirror with a reflection to know whom I was supposed to be. It was then that I stumbled upon an uplifted root and found myself falling. And, as I fell, I heard ten thousand whispers repeating, “We are Legion“, and I knew they did not know their names, as I did not know mine. For I had become them.

I was dropping, falling as the morning star. A burning orb within me, plummeting within and without the world on fire. Plunging as David after the fall. Moving through lives and beyond burning shadows. Failed dreams, and an eternity of futile desire for knowing not my name, or what it meant. For the world was on fire, and every something appeared in a negative sum. A dwindling cool spot under an uncontrollable flame. A crisis that goes without repent. For the night had become the day, and the day the night.

……And I cried out to G_D to judge me, to know me as I am, to amplify my reasons for living under the calmness of her hand. To kiss me, to fill my soul and feel my face. To become me. To believe in me, as I bless the treasure, the mystery that is his hand. To be like Moses, and know it face to face. To be it face to face. For I knew in this world of fire it was my destiny, to be one with the sum.

……And above me was the sound of pleasure, the movement of airborne wings, and what was separated from me, was in me once more. Kissing me in shadows, knowing me in light. For it was eternity beyond the curtain, and I was a child unbroken. I was in the calling, summoned out of a world on fire. I was a man. I was a man. – 10.15.2019 – דָנִיֵּאל

* World on Fire lyrics – Sarah McLachlan & Pierre Marchand

War and Times for a Gentle Man

“We are all ready to be savage in some cause. The difference between a good man and a bad one is the choice of the cause.” – William James

The ending of a Sabbath for a gentle man. The signs and the lessons for a gentle man. The sun rises and sets on the gentle man. When the day arrives and I seem to die, play Led Zeppelin over me. For not in a grave I will ever be. From the beginning to what is to be…

A gentle man’s immortality.

A gentle man dances in the dark, behind a curtain, oh his mind is stark, thinking not on that which brings forth love, nor does he even consider if the sun will rise above. For that gentle man thinks of worlds to be. Has he done what is right to blend a destiny? For to care outside of self is instinctual not, to hold hearts close, where they are not tied in knots. Yes, that gentle man moves with not much ease, for a train calls a sound from his inward prairie. Indeed, a gentle man is not sweet or good, baring strong sentiments of what most think he should. Not a great cut figure drawn is he, still a gentle man will he be.

There’s a mirror chained in deep waters on a ghostly sea, it reflects certain attributes a gentle mind can free. Without strength or power, or ghastly deeds, moving strong cogs of iron through ocean reeds. A gentle man can breathe, can breathe with belief, part the water of doubt with ease. Indeed, there are moments of immobility, when movement unexpected changes everything, and a gentle man looks to find someone holding a key, someone that is a she. That someone is a she.

The world becomes full of whispers for the gentle man, caressing private moments in places that he thought he would never understand. Movement in a symphony a chart of notes, a minor key in sixteen rhythms on his weakening knees. A monotone turned to a stereo vision. Six pointed seals of such mysteries. An entrance given for the mind that was not living, a thought becomes a decision. Suddenly there is something slight, a spark or two in one for the gentle man. And yes, he sees, for the rest of his life with clarity. Only the beginnings, the very depth of gentleness is G_D’s vision for he. A gentle man he will be. A gentle man he will be.

But then, and then….

The rains come down, and the war does start, and the sky turns ghastly with unimagined art. From the day well given for the night has come, and the rebel man yells, give us your father’s and your sons. Comes the battle for many, is there a man not even one? There are terrible instincts in lives of men, when their nature is built on the greed of sin, turning each woman till she can’t be turned again. For the culture rages, and it sums its end, saying there is no redemption needed for we will always win.

But give me no prophet, or new age spin. Just a sword blessed by G_D and a gentle man.

The ending of a Sabbath for a gentle man. The signs and the lessons for a gentle man. The sun rises and sets on the gentle man. When the day arrives and I seem to die, play Led Zeppelin over me. For not in a grave I will ever be. From the beginning to what is to be…

A gentle man’s immortality. – 06.23.2019 – דָנִיֵּאל