I

I have died many times before my death.
Long ago, in another lifetime
I learned to be what I am not.

My thoughts are hallucinatory,
broken sounds and refracted images
that drift through my mind like shadows
dancing on dimly lit walls.
I sit shackled, hunting for significance
in grey blurs that float by
in endless streams of repetition.

I want to find a new word
for my life,
I am tired of the old one.
I want to renegotiate with the brokers
who sold me
the visions and promises of alchemy
at a time when I could not reach
to twist and turn the doorknobs.
I recall the measures, the tools,
the specters of wooden rulers
preaching the virtues of iron,
the obscenity of a boy in a box
repenting his nakedness,
confessing his bread crumb sins
in mythological ceremonies of darkness.

I want to launch a coup d'etat,
to strike the match of revolution
against myself.
I seek nothing less than
the overthrow of my learned sanity,
the resurrection and radical rearrangement
of my stunted senses.
I crave intensity.
I yearn to taste colors,
to see feelings,
to develop an awareness
without filters or restraints,
to extract the inner marrow,
the essence of my soul,
exposing it to the light without fear.

I hear Picasso in my alley
drawing pictures of Rimbaud
in china blue and raspberry chalk,
vivid abstractions that open the floodgates
in the desert of my psyche.
I see a child discovering
the spectrum of a rainbow
on the dewy silk of a spider's web
early on a sunlit morning.

               II

In the midst of autumn
I find myself
on a path that defines obscurity,
a long stretch of bad road,
straight and narrow,
through deep woods,
ending at a gold mine
abandoned many years ago.
The foliage glitters a bright yellow.
The air is crisp and clean
with a fragrance sweeter than perfume.
Mozart does not play here
and even Monet is a poor imitator.
There are no architects
for further creation is not allowed.
Life is all that is.
For forty miles
I see no one but myself.
The further in I go
the more I leave behind.

Inevitably... I walk off the road
with no direction
until I arrive at a remote stream.
I sit on a large rock,
thinking, observing, but not expecting,
when suddenly I am struck by a bolt of impulsivity
which devours the banality of thought.
My mind becomes an empty canvas,
a cradle of curiosity
magnetized to attract the logic of beauty
defined by equations of ascetic simplicity
and infinite levels of color and emotion.
I begin to move about, to flow, to receive.
I become naked
experiencing for the first time in memory
the taste of cold air on my unfettered skin.
My heart pounds a primal pulse
as I sprint into the woods,
feeling the warmth of the sun's rays
dancing over me in a sensual chaotic rhythm.
I laugh loudly, prancing with an aimless certainty,
hearing the echoes of wood nymphs and Dryads
whose mellifluous whispers of joy
reverberate throughout the ancient forest.
Rolling on the ground, I rumble
in the dirt and freshly fallen leaves
staining my flesh in multicolored hues
infusing it with the sweet incense of the earth.

At length... as evening falls,
I come to rest,
weary from the long day's journey.
I light a fire with vagrant driftwood.
As I gaze into the glowing embers
I am mesmerized by the deep red energy
which transforms the wood into smoke,
wafting into the night air
to fade into the invisible infinity
of black space.
Staring into the vacuum
I feel the power flowing
from the metamorphosis within,
the maelstrom of my rebirth,
the heat of the pyre,
the burning of false goals and idols,
and the genesis of a new vision.

            III

As morning dawns
I prepare for my return.
I spot an adolescent eagle,
bold and confident,
snaring a fish from the stream
in its razor-sharp talons.
Its flight is strained and awkward
from the treasure it carries.
Two playful ravens
pursue the now defenseless bird,
nipping at its tail and legs,
leaving the future king
two choices:
hold on and risk
or
let go and be safe.

I watch intently with childlike wonder
as the eagle makes its decision.