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Poetry offerings from Moongate

Volume V, Issue 5 April 1999


     I knelt, beside myself
          at the lee of a crystal pond.
     Suspended below me,
          as if floating in the air,
     three stone-black fish
          circling each other
     in geometric interweave,
          as if one mind.
     Exhausted in defeat,
          I saw no meaning
     and concerned myself
          with thoughts of escape.
     Of a sudden, the waters rippled,
          disturbed from the far side
     where stood a snow-white steed,
          perfect vehicle for flight,
     I called to him, and
          he proceeded towards me.
     As he entered the water
          his color changed;
     as if being washed
          he became solid coal-black.
     When he arrived
          I grabbed his mane to mount,
     but it came off in my hands,
       along with most of the flesh
            of the neck,
     which immediately turned to dust
          in my hands.
     The rest of his flesh disintegrated,
          leaving only his bleached bones.
     Still animated as an integral skeleton,
          he pawed the ground and snorted.
     I pointed the direction of my pursuers
          and he charged off in that direction,
     a galloping specter,
          a vision of terror bent on my defense
     I turned back to the pond
          and espied again those fish;
     I was inundated by a wave of intuition
          drawing me to grab hold of one.
     As they left the water,
          as if strung together,
     they changed from black to white
          and from scales to feathers.
     They jumped to the air
          and circled my head.
     They dove back into the pond
          changing again to dark fish.
     As they began to weave their mandala
          I knew what needed no words,
     and so I dove head-first
          into that vortex of salvation.

     - Paul Malécot

You cannot stay on the summit forever;
you have to come down again...
so why bother in the first place?
just this: what is above knows what is below,
but what is below does not know what is above.
In climbing always take note of the difficulties
along the way, for as you go up you can observe them.
Coming down you will no longer see them,
but you will know they are there if you
have observed them well.

One climbs, one sees, one descends
one sees no longer, but one has seen.
There is an art in conducting oneself in
lower regions by the memory
of what one saw higher up.
When one can no longer see,
one can at least still know.

- Rene Daumal



"i hear what u say man 
i don’t want to be how i was yesterday either 
putting your  leg brace on my arm 
we all can’t walk in each other’s shoes 
but we can know we’ve all been there 
that magic moment between 
what we were yesterday 
and what we think we want to be 

- Sam Hill


Sandy            Smithy