Dancing with Shadows

Do you know that I don't know
Anything beyond light and shadow
No ideas, no thoughts
Just reactions

I chase my shadow
I run from my shadow
I touch my shadow
I lean on my shadow
I tap on its fingers
I step on its feet

And we dance
And we prance
And we dance

I can't see you watching
If I did, I couldn't care
Light and dark are now
All that I perceive
Not just the colors
But the things we believe
Ideas don't exist
And neither do you
Unless you bring it
Bring your shadow into view
Then I can dance —
With your shadow, not with you

Black and white
Dark and light
Are all I comprehend
But it's not so bad
To dance with shadows
Round the bend



On Writing (circa 2005)

I am weak
I cannot hold up my head
Nor type without my arms supported
The effort of movement
Clashes with the effort of words
Clashing again with the effort of thought

When I move
Thought comes in formless swirls
No longer the crystalline clarity
That comes with stillness
I grasp at the remaining fragments
Struggling to piece them together
And turn them into words

I cannot predict my body
As it shifts from stiff to limp
From rhythmic movement
To rigid stillness
And staccato jerks
It gives little warning
And no apology

Luminous clarity changes suddenly
To searing pain
Detail beautiful enough for tears
Passing an invisible threshold
Soundlessly shatters
Laser-sharp focus
Giving way to electric fog

I am a collector of fragments
That sit within my mind
Weeks, months, years
Before settling into their places
In the patterns of my thoughts

I write as a historian
Not a reporter or newscaster
My specialty is remembrance
Not narration

My mind can burn
With the desire to tell it as it is now
The drives of a writer and a poet
Clash with the mind of an observer

I pound my head and wordlessly yell
As if this will hasten the process
That changes experience to thought
Thought into words
Words into movement
Intricate lines that branch
On the shell of a tortoise
Marching in a straight line to the sea

But my body does burn
With the effort of this chronicle
Eyes flash on and off
And words recede
Head rocking from side to side
Legs undulate unbidden
Fingers flick rather than type
Fragments collect again
The poet flees

I struggle now
As words dissolve on all sides
To adequately display
The meaning of fluctuation

Easy would be
To call this hell
Torture, imprisonment
To evoke the overlay
Of several shifting principles
Unsynchronized with each other
With their abhorrence of change
A body here, a mind there
Each sense broken into pieces
Jagged electricity interrupting
As I burn in unceasing pain

Too easy it would be
To acquiesce
To end with this description
As the inevitable flood
Of my internal rhythms
Drowns me out
As I try to shout over the waves
That shift through my mind

That I see waves and the poet
The rhythm and the cry
The weakness and the beauty
The struggle and the change
The fluctuating movement
The lines on the shell
Unpredictability and pain

I see them
They drown me out
They propel me
I shout over them
That I can’t see the tortoise
Without all of this
And as such
This must all be my home

And I Will Dance

I am a focal point
For atoms and molecules and strings and things
I am the place that things connect
And I am not even aware of this
I am connected to the number zero
And zero contains everything

And yet I am flowing colors
And I am things no science or math can reach
I am the place things go
When they have no identity
And need no identity
The swirls of color
The textures that surround my fingers
The tones that drift past my ears
All of these are me as well
No number or formula can contain
The music of existence
The dance of reality
The texture of truth
The rhythm of depth

One part of me
Wants numbers
And formulae
And science
To explain truth

Another part of me
Wants to dive in
To sensory experience
And find the truth there
Unexplained, unexplainable

Both are right
Both are wrong
Both are me

And I will dance in the swirling colors
And I will dance in the numbers
And I will dance
And I will dance
And I will dance
And this is me


Your Air and My Air

I may not be
The sort of person who can
Soar through the clouds
As if my intellect has wings
I’ve told you this
So many times
You might tire of hearing it

You might tire of hearing how
The soil of the redwoods sustains me
And gives me a knowledge
Wholly unlike your own

But I am
The sort of person who
Can scramble up the redwood trees
And as long as I remain safe in their branches
Connected to the earth through their trunks
And as long as I remain connected to water
Through the mist they drink in through their leaves

Then I can take in the air, the heights
I can think far and wide
I can put words together

I can do all those airbound intellectual things
Without the benefit of wings
As long as I stay connected
To the mist and the soil

So don’t write me off as saying
There’s no place in my life
To be up in the air
I just get there differently than you do

And my mind works differently
Because of its constant connection
To the ground and the mist
Without which I become hopelessly disoriented
Because my air is not your air
And going where you go…
It feels too much like endless falling
Tumbling without anything to anchor me
— I’ll stick to the trees, thank you.


Falling Out Of Your World

I fell out of your world today
And landed in the dirt
I knew the name of every plant
Of every tree and mushroom

You can’t know what this meant to me
This knowledge without thought
In your world, wit is easily won
It’s your solace and your weapon

In my world, it’s like flecks of soil
That pile up with each passing year
It grows slowly and naturally
My mind doesn’t soar through the clouds

I looked up at your world today
You seemed so happy up there
Because you do soar through the clouds
Your mind eats equations for breakfast

You can’t imagine life down here
It’s too slow and too ordinary
For days at a time I do nothing
But soak myself into the soil

But the soil talks to me
Like the clouds talk to you
And from the underground depths
Understanding flows up to me

I know that you love your life
Where the breeze brings you words
And the clouds carry equations
And you can dart everywhere
With a touch of your wings

But I love my life
I have deep roots in the dark places
Water springs up from the soil
And understanding can only happen
By listening to things without voices

I am a thing without a voice
Perhaps that is why I belong down here
And not up where the voice of the wind
Sings unceasing words of knowledge
To people whose heads fill with words

I fell out of your world today
And I thanked the gods of mist and soil
Of the dark and the damp
Of the roots and the trees

Because you may thrive in your world
But to me, it’s a lightning storm in my head
And I belong curled up inside the ground
At the feet of a redwood tree