in the bitter breeze: february

Chapter two of "an owl on the moon..."

     Glittered, ice-dust scrapes and stretches across sky and sea.  The gossamer wind carries my thoughts as they shift and shake, gliding across the cresting coastline. Out my window hovers the ever-altering, constant moon.

 

O, Luna.

Ixchel.

Der Mond.

O, crescent victory,

ever reborn,

ever dying.

How time defaces all things,

all things but your face.

The rain strips the earth,

but you remain unharmed.

The Huracan of Myan myth

could not reach your peaceful shores.

The stormy blast of Wotan’s horde,

could not but taste your spiced Eden.

To rest in your light,

is to rest in the arms of Morpheus.

To lay in your shadow,

is to be touched by the hand of Somnus.

You are truly the eye of the dark night.

My soul lays exposed in your beam.

 

     I step back from my window at the sound of shuffling steps, and see in its reflection the January angel. In the liquid of her beautying gaze even the freshly fallen snow seems stained. Sarah speaks in a hushed tone.

     “Do you look on life or death within your hovering gaze?”  Without movement her presence seems to surround my soul. 

     “I’ve been looking above life and death, at the mocking moon.”

     “Was there hope for you in its eye?”

     I turn toward her porcelain figure and speak.

 

“I see hope,

but not here.

I taste life,

but not near.

 I am fed on despair,

 and am filled with hopelessness.

But above the sky the moon rests,

and in its’ crescent form

sings life incarnate.”

 

     She steps nearer to me and speaks again.

     “You are driven like a sane man. Can you not see that you are blind? Will you not hear that you are deaf? Can you not grasp your unwillingness to perceive the mystery of life?

 

It is depth beyond sight,

and height beyond understanding.

A measureless sphere;

a boundless expanse.

 

     What you are able to touch is but the skin, not the blood or bone.”

     I walk to her and lift her angelic eyes with my mortal hand. The whole world rests within these deep olive spheres.

     “Will I never rest from your gaze? You who speak of a boundless expanse, though you’ve roamed and rambled the clay of all creation. My life has been lived on this crested hill, with the ever-beating waves to haunt my hope.”  At this I turn from her and she moves softly across my floor. Glancing out my window, she speaks.

 

“I roamed alone;

O, barren dreams.

My echoed voice,

what lonely comfort.

Here is my salvation:

I hear the triumph drum;

the rhythm of the rising,

the long-awaited sun.”

 

Walking across my simple room to her side, I turn my eyes toward the distant, darking sky.

 

“While you wander, I will work,

and moving forward

here will build,

my doleful dreams

of solitude.

For a living

I will yield

all hope, all comfort, all joy.”

 

     Once again Sarah turns to face me. In her voice is mingled sorrow and strength. “Men for the sake of earning a living often forget to live. Now tell me, in your dreams do you merely seek a shelter or desire a destiny?”

     “Through such gross neglect you ponder that distant spun gold, the sun’s awaited arrival, while enshrined in the weavers web. How dare you speak of my dreams when your waking wiles are full of hoarded wonder.  Yet there is a somber longing in your deeping stare.”  I begin to circle her frozen frame.  “Can you weep when you walk or are your tears a mock?”

     “Sometimes,” she speaks in a whisper, lifting her hand to the window pane. “Sometimes the sky weeps when I cannot. And in those moments, the earth alone embraces my tears.”

     She turns to me with tears in her eyes. With an almost inaudible music, Sarah speaks. “May I rest here in your room? I’ll try not to trouble your quietude, I just feel so alone. But I will face the sunrise in silence, and taste a morning far beyond this foam and tide.”

     I nod my head in agreement, and she walks in past my window and sits on my simple chair. For a moment I gaze at glass trees hushed in ice, and beyond I view the tenderness of the tide.  In weariness I close my eyes...

 

     Bars of gold encrusted with diamond dust enshrines me. I hear a swifting song of subtle silence:

 

Golden bars make no less a prison

than a coffin on a hill.

And in caged reformation,

one wanders aimless still.

The rafters now a recollection

of sacred suppression.

How the morning dawn

strikes mourning confession.

Now Death yields a harvest

of the living masses.

We walk toward its path

no earthly power surpasses.

 

     I look about me, surrounded by shrouded stones and shifting sand. The gold bars swift to golden rays of deepening sunlight, as black stone lifts itself above the raging foam. The sea erupts, engulfing the sun as a deadened darkness dances through me.

     A chilling wind shivers my skin, and in my transfixed weary walk I taste its bitter marrow. As I stand transfixed, I see a shadow flighting above the frozen waves. It is Sarah, her figure draped in a crystal fog.  Through this cold hellish haze she reaches her hand out to mine. I step toward her on the waves, but I am swallowed by the sea. She speaks.

 

“When swallowed by your desperation,

walk above the torrents raging.

And in your fearful, wandering state,

Fight earth, and sky, and visions vapor.”

 

     Wisping waves raise my form above the foamy depths, and for a moment I stand in stillness in the mist of her shadow.  I begin to walk toward her on the winded waters, reaching out my hand to grasp hers.  As our fingers touch, a shrill scream clambers from the savage sea.  The waves crest beyond her in the form of a draped windowpane, and the watered glass shatters as her figure sails and sweeps through this temporary portal.  At this a blue-gray cloud swifts her from my sight.

     On the shadowed sand I see what seems to me a transparent specter. This spirit’s back is crimson striped, and it walks in aimless unrest. In a moment, it is swallowed by the mist. What unearthly horror is this? I can almost taste its shrieking stench in the morning air.

 

 

     I open my eyes...

     I glance from my window toward the sunless sky. The morning mist nestles across the sand as the sea slumbers. Within my hollow haven I view Sarah’s veiled form, hushed in sacred silence in the corner of my room. How the shifting air ebbs with her confident beauty, and flows with my aimless despair. I walk past her and out my darkened doorway.

     The silent sea extends its fingers toward me as I walk the shore.  A bristling breeze strikes my face as I crest the gray stone overlooking the surf.  As I make my circumferal gaze across the horizon I deeply realize that my eyes are beholding a distance my feet have never traversed. 

      I return and enter my small room to rest and wait for the angel to awaken.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Pax]

So abstract that leaves us in wonders… this mysterious beauty, Sarah… speaks so much of sorrow as it matched your own…

Another breath-taking journey towards a place full of wonders in your words… abstract and surreal vision mixed up into a beautiful gems of colorful painted words….

I have to quotes some gems I found:
“Do you look on life or death within your hovering gaze?”
“I’ve been looking above life and death, at the mocking moon.”
~ Life and death are always one step ahead of us… so live through it and experience it every day in each passing days of our lives…
“Men for the sake of earning a living often forget to live.”
~ wow, true in its form…. Sometimes for the sake of achievement we forget the things we left behind or Something we forget the very reason why we do these things(achievements/work/money) like fame you’re achievement sours in singings…reaching the top…. But then you forget the very reason why you are there… the love of you do, the love for singing your heart out to the people around you, simple to say the “love for your craft”….

You have some deep thoughts you put here my friend….
As if I read your very soul….
I feel like I haven’t reach this kind of creativity, truly unique, truly your own…
Now, I’m looking forward for the next chapter….
Very well done…
You’re the master of your craft…

[An owl on the moon]

Pax, thank you so very much for your comments! And yes... this came from the shadows of my soul... sometimes it aches just to read back through the lines... a fictional biography... Your words bring such peace, my friend.

[Kathy Van Kurin]

'in the bitter breeze; February'
An owl on the moon,
From depths of soul looking for light the heart speaks to itself of stars mirroring night.
searching spirit gazing in grim hopelessness. Must blood beat on when the voice is gone?
I see from your occasional notes that this writing was instigated by a dark time of soul.
ocean wave depths, deep night, and swelling waves and mists took on form-Angel Sarah.
Thank you for your transparent giving in words. We people know sad times, hard times.
It was inspiring to read this second in your book.
Bless you so much
Kathy

[An owl on the moon]

Oh Kathy, thank you for finding this piece! There was much pain and sorrow buried in these lines. I so deeply appreciate your kind thoughts... and your wondrous blessings always.

[Kathy Van Kurin]

Nothing in our lives goes unnoticed by the Holy Spirit. We are His business and focus. It is my hope to keep my focus on Jesus. Bless you.
kathy

[Jyoti_Ablaze]

This chapter, left me to bear my subtle suppositions.
An ever increasing mystery.
I particularly love the glimpses of enchanting, surreal poetry of yours...

[An owl on the moon]

Thank you for reading on through my life of night, precious Jyoti. When I was suffering from depression, I found no way to express the pain in simple terms. Everything became blurred, and yes, like a surreal world it flowed in its own colors.

[Jyoti_Ablaze]

My pleasure.. But even darkness had the magic to allure light!

[OT]

wow!! more people NEED to read this, you write so brilliantly with nonpareil language and descriptions that describe the ethereal surroundings of our earth with such depth and brilliance!! such strong questions you poise, such a thought provoking deep piece of writing, great!!!

[Jenny Nelson]

Such an ethereal feel. It's a wonderful mix of reality and what's "in the mind." The poetry is wonderful. I really do love this.

[Tracie Skarbo]

Again another phenomenal chapter to this truely unique story. I love the way you have developed the story and the dark emotion you are transmitting through your words. I can feel your pain, your longing, your anger. Wonderful!

On the shadowed sand I see what seems to me a transparent specter. This spirit's back is crimson striped, and it walks in aimless unrest. In a moment, it is swallowed by the mist. What unearthly horror is this? I can almost taste its shrieking stench in the morning air.

I am wondering who this is I am thinking it is a mirror of the main character, as he stumbles through his dreamless life of despair. Going on to the next chapter.

[Charlène Boutin]

The emotion in this chapter, like the one before it, is overwhelming and beautifully weaved in an interesting tale; the strong feelings of the dream is so intriguing and inspiring!
I was swallowed by the thoughts of your characters. They are more than human, and so intense...