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Abyss Of The Moon

My spirit is killed by whatever is loathe
        to wings flapping,

Forever under a dark and gleaming moon,
Meadows sultry and warm where I want to lay down,
Turning wheels before my mind,
O!      Let it be!

Among them freely passing,
All who have hands can also hold a heart,
These are petal bright,
Forth upon the holdings reproduction,
Growing wild to the flowers of love,
Vistas of the endless many,
Reveling the midst of bumblebees,
Fat butterflies and fatter moths,
Bugs full of juice in the blows of the wind,
These wild nooks -- spirit healing spots:
They search for us as we wander,
These are dreamy lands in the almost now;
Flying wings for the happy illuminations,
Lightning crackles in the thunder-booms,
Raining clean in the voices,
Strong and full to the golden hills of heath,
Voices old,
Full and strong to the larks of the sky,
Singing voices,
Strong and full and dells and older hills,
In spots of peace I come green and seeking,
Heart-molded O!     Spirit!

Turning wheels are my thoughts,
They go before me:
In the love of mountains, there is the Great Spirit,
In the peace of glaciers, there is the Buddha,
In the wisdom of birds, there is Jesus,
In the truth of ants, there is God,
In the beauty of rivers, there is the Rabbi,
In the unity of great oceans, there is the Minister,
In the freedom of deserts, there is the Priest,
In the magic of morning, there is the Shaman,

I walk by wing-beat tread,
In harmony with wings,
Silver-swans,
Love sights of a natural heaven,
Heart-molded O!    Spirit!

Where the wild waters ebb,
There my course is set,
Cool and green in the leafy limberlost,
Healing nooks where the spirit seeks,
Woods scared for traipsing through,
Before me as a wheel my thoughts are going:
O!        Let it be!
What perishes the earth is Progress,
Crying, it sighs longest in the wind,
I see no envy in the grass,
No greed in boulders,
Nor do I see fear in butterflies,
Or guilt in river islands,
I see no crime in cottonwoods,
No violence in wild flowers,
The forest cares not who is yellow,
Nor cares the ocean for who is brown,
Or red, or white, or black;
The mighty ants care not who is poorest,
Or richest, or rightist or wrongest,
Nor does the brook argue over who is
Best and who is worst,
O!     Let it be!

My thoughts go before me,
As a wheel turning,
And none shall know their time!
From the hubs of the earth,
To the rims of the stars,
All is forever turning,
All around the skies are turning,
All ahead the earth is rolling,
All behind the earth is rising,
All above the stars are burning,
All below the ants are crawling,
All before us was our history,
All now is our craving,
All ahead is our yearning,
Everything is turning, turning,
A burning in the brains of life,
A burning in the chains of strife,
A burning in the House of Earth,
Down and up there is a stalking,
Up and down there is a creeping,

House of Earth is burning, burning,
As a serpent fanged,
Coiled and crushing,
Treason of Earth is weeping weeping,
O!     Never let it be!

Alone to die, weeping, weeping,
None should ever die alone:
Rising stars and rising moon,
Rising suns and rising earth,
Rose and lit to tell the truth,
Naked eons in the light,
None can see the brighter light,
Science-Savior kill your flame!
Cunning flame of maniacs!
Dance the sunset on your grave
O!     Let it be!

Feasts of War,
Feasts of Famine,
Five billion at the feast,
Gasps of God to feed the Hordes,
Vessels broken and fain to drink!
Earthblood dried and fain to eat!
The ground is hungry, too!
Fat cannibals at a table of shame!
Ye!     Shame!
In the dizzy clangors and din,
No marriage between Human and Earth:
Nothing mirrors the blessings of dawn.
Nothing echoes the sound of churning rivers,
Self-defeating,
Civilization knows not that Voice!
Ye!     What flutters there?
Ye!     All under the horizons,
There is a blue flame rising,
It is thin, wispy, stronger than hydrogen bombs,
Ye!     What cycle is that?
Lo!     It is as a Great Circularity,
Underfoot and knowing,
Growing in the groves of love,
O!     Let it be!

All walls are monsters,
What mirths the evening,
Is silent in morning,
Bird voices speaking your prayers,
Though many dragons pass your door,
Consider the windows of any cottage,
Also the shades,
So it is with the human,
O!    Let it be!

The dawn is misty,
Behind it there is a groaning,
Dissonant and sad,
It sees long into the heart,
So!

I would twist your hands,
To twist the key,
That twists into the lock,
It slips so silently,
Slicks by the tumblers,
Snick!     The door is open!
Snick!     The door is shut!
Snick!     Open!
Snick!     Shut!
O!    Let it be!

No footpath yet exists,
To a land of brass,
So why a gate of oak,
In this unvisited place?

Shhh!

Some would strangle the stars,
To slake their throats,
Here, on the most possible of planets
We live the most impossible lives,
Lo!      Let it be!

Here, with the company of light,
I sign a very sad dream,
Low, by lamplight, the night bows over me,
And I am lost for centuries!
(The door quickly snicks open, snicks shut as soon)
With hammer-hands I pound the bells of history,
With diaphanous eyes I rage, also, against the night!
Each shadow-wraith is rescued by the light!
Tonight, the subterranean stones are glowing,
So, too, are the roots of life shining,
Tonight, the moon comes down in caverns,
Beats slowly against the pricks of brambles,
Tongues wagging in the wild songs,
All is forever turning, turning,
Looking away, I see the backside of the brook,
Burnt by moonlight,
It suffers to worship the decay of rocks,
Rocks standing together and apart,
Brave guardians of the water!
Together,
We are all standing here,
In the night's own wind,
We are as angels hanging, hanging,
Blocks of stone dripping with light,
To make a chapel or a well,
I cannot tell,
Here, the gleam is lighter hue,
And the branches are on the moon,
(The door snicks open, snicks shut as soon),
And I am lost in the soil of centuries,
O!      Let it be!

       (The door snicks open and shut thousands of times
per second, depending on where you are understanding and whether or not your eyes are blinking shut or blink-
ing open the door appears to be either constantly
open
or constantly shut. If it appears open you find it
bwilder- ingly difficult to walk through; if it appears shut you fear
to open it; once open you find it bewilderingly
difficult
to remember there ever was a door; once through
none
of this matters, only that the dirt under your fingernails
is somehow very beautiful now, as is the crack in your window, so too the motes in your kitchen, and the bird
that passes by
now wears a face; there is no word for any
of this, nor need
there be; the abyss of the moon is yours forever to keep; or the uncentered always balanced; or the sweet sleep of flowers in silhouette against the Dawn and again at dusk and again at Dawn and again at dusk; between all of these you know your life is living with all
the a life there ever was, is living now,
and will live after you; in this way all is stored up and remembered; flows
out like rivers to feed the earth, and the abuses takes all but Love,
stores it up for those times of Famine_Hate; Times of Famine-Fear; Times of Famine-Anger; Times of Famine-Loss and Times of Famine-Sorrow; Love flows by Ebb and Eddy, by Currents and Whirls, and by Waves
upon
the Flood; all these come by Drops of Rain as to a parched field; So it is with us all; that none should Famine.)

The door falls from its casement and snicks no more.


- Michael Warren Eliseuson