As a child
I knew a way into meditation
I never forgot
He came into my visions sometimes
Gently
Over the years
And one day asked:
Who do you love?
There are no limits
at least not while I’m in this state where you’ve caught me
though sometimes
like with demanding people
poison ivy
faceless corporations striving to influence me
it can be a boundless stretch
Would you go to hell for the sake of one you love?
Yes, since there are no limits —
is there a reason I’d need to go?
Would you go to hell for me?
Well I can see you must be tired of being nailed to that tree
imagine what may happen if through giving myself I could pull you off
I know the place well
I’ve been there
of course
I love you, man
and I’ll do whatever you need
relationship is a two-way street after all
He handed me the contract
I signed it in my blood
He might as well have partaken of my body too
For I descended straight to hell
and knew again what it was to be consumed
from then on
I’d welcome knowing
The hell of reliving leaving everything behind
keeping close the memory of the rich dark soil of the place I was born
the memory of nurture
held distant
from the time I was a child
The hell of being an outcast
stranded in somebody else’s town
resenting those who’d dragged me
till they and all around resented back
holding myself away from everyone who might’ve cared
to prevent their being hit by more spitballs rocks or insults
getting their physical bones broken or displaced
like mine were
as I learned to know and appreciate the aspects of me
that can never be broken
to see with broadened vision
what can’t be injured
The hell of observing my habit of holding myself away
for their protection
and for mine
outlive its usefulness by a boundless stretch
with me
holding onto it
alone
The hell of experiencing all the suffering I ever caused
unable even to say I’m sorry
because the time to do that came and went
without me
The hell of recognizing every confusion of others
agonizingly slowly
while I’m a bit too late too unusual too far out
of the picture
to make a difference
and there are many confusions
The hell of watching the incompetent doctors make her dwindle
to eighty pounds
half what she’d weighed a few months earlier
having to steal her from them
from her mother
from that death grip
while she couldn’t eat
forced to learn more subtle healing arts myself
for lack of any sensible alternative
buying an extra fridge to hold enough vegetables to keep
giving her juice
the only nutrition she could stomach
convincing her to hold my vision
gained from my long experience in this hell or that
of the part of her that can’t waste away
a tenuous vision of her recovery
body and soul
a vision of her subcutaneous fat regrowing
cell by cell
only over years
of precarious mindfulness
that never quite finds its end
The hell of raising our awareness together
rather than all the children she wanted
maybe it was all that juice
only to reach the revelation
that we faced the devils of her family and mine
steel-clawed rodents and classic red dudes with pointed tails from my side
whirling crones and depressed loafing cadavers from her side
as I drag them out of our home one by one
and surround it with ash
the last devil’s face must of course
remain stuck inside the front door
irrevocably cast into it whether we smash plead or bless
his bulging eyes glancing back and forth over his wicked grin
I show him to friends who don’t even meditate yet
see him plainly with awe
formed in fine detail from the very grain of the wood
watching everything we do as the months go by
until I walk into the room one morning and he’s gone
even though it’s the same door
he’s not to be seen anymore
still when we sold that home the buyers’ first act
having never been told about our devils
was front door replacement
Doesn’t hell take many forms
Can’t the many hells cold or hot
All have fires
Our fires
Burning away dross
Bestowing subtle gifts
Clear soul vision
Things laid bare that would be hidden
So they can be experienced fully
From here I see things differently
Things that boundlessly stretch
A crazed imagination
Made real
At some level
What’s altogether serious?
Will those of sufficient imagination experience hell
When their consciousness always can be somewhere else
Clinging
Remaining stuck in a place and time
Unchanging
Growing neither older nor wiser
Until imagination itself is captivated
But how
Maybe a moment of introspection doubt shame realization grace
Maybe someone abandoned
Maybe a missed opportunity
Maybe a blind chance now
Maybe the world
Maybe a friend
Or maybe just maybe
Other unknown powers that meddle with our fate
Beginning last night in my meditation
A devil entering the vision
Barging right in with the wind
that comes blasting across Monterey Bay and up this hill
His enormous profile towering dark red above me
Blanketing me in the pitch blackness of immense shadow
laid all over and around me
The sense that I’m a tiny powerless nothing
impinging upon me
The definite feeling of being touched by bitter cold
That feeling of doom
Annihilation
Goads my laughter
As I say
just look at you
you try to make this big impression on me because you’re weak
As I bring warm healing energy into myself
Filling me
Overflowing
Until it spills from the palms of my hands
see how with a boundless stretch I reach one hand beneath you
to support your warty feet
and another
over your shiny horned head
lightly press you like an accordion down to my size
you’re almost playable
like a fine instrument
a beautiful solo
or is it a duet
surely not a trio a grand trine a trinity
right?
now why not have a seat in that chair
come on
you’re resisting
what a piece of work you are
or pieces
here’s the core of you relaxed in the chair
or at least a lot of you
but there’s the big dark red towering husk you left standing over me
the piece you wouldn’t let me play
maybe your problem is that your pieces are all scattered
you’re like Jesus
who has so many people calling his name with no reason
who wouldn’t tire
of being asked to show up in traffic and at every football game
he never had to explain why he doesn’t like his name
called in vain
the answer’s plain
others may be rewarded for their worship
you my fork-tongued friend are rewarded for my gift of myself
of my love and total respect for you, man
that’s how you came to spend this quality time with me
and isn’t it nice to have someone talking sense with you for once?
He looks at me with big round eyes
In silence
Probably wants to lower those horns charge gore me in the gut
it’s useless big guy who are we kidding
you’re pure spirit
I’m embodied
think I don’t know the difference between the realms?
do a real convincing job and I might get a tummyache
just for you
curable with a stirred sip of slippery elm powder
or perhaps a few drops of warmed pau d’arco tincture in my teacup
but more likely you’d only get hung up in my shirt
I’d have to pull it off and shake you out of it
right there over your chair
and if you fell out upside down I could always leave you
humiliated that way
with your shiny dark red head pinned by your horns into the seat
and your scaly stick legs hooked over the back
watching me like you used to from the door
you might stay that way as long as you like
why should I mind
I’d sit there and mingle with you now and then
because like I said I love you, man
why intimidate or manipulate anyone
why bother
why not just collect yourself
maybe hang out in a jazz club
or dance to the Pacific Avenue didgeridoo players
you’d be too cool
what, have you got nothing to say?
Yeah I got something:
did Jesus ever thank you for cuttin’ that backroom deal with him
the deal with the blood and all?
Thank me?
you’ve got it all wrong
I thanked him for the opportunity to have conversations like this
with the likes of you
You’re pullin’ my leg
I really did thank him
with all my heart
for he’d given me a true gift
and then he told me
thanks always returns
