But what if we went right on ahead?
If we charged like bulls bellowing our mysteries?
When I think of you, think about us, I want to. That’s exactly what I want to do: be done with mysteries, be one in fact.
But when I look at you, when I touch, taste, smell and listen you, I cannot conceive it. Can’t even imagine comprehending all that’s unknown, inexplicable. And I’m afraid to. That too, I’m frightened of some unfathomable overwhelm.
Yet from a distance, I mean, from here, now, it feels plausible. To declare all mysteries, one to another, in song or verse or gesture. Enaction. To enact our mysteries and imperceivables all at once in some enormous chaotic unison, unashamed. What is there to be ashamed of? Secrets are not mysteries, only their private signs. What forges them is larger and unclear. Diversity and variation – these we celebrate – no?
Step out of your houses and enact your whole selves!
We will bewilder one another – not such a bad catharsis!
Running, perhaps amok, perhaps silenced to a shuddering ball – who knows? It’s a mystery!
Perhaps we’d shout in brand new languages – delighting everyone’s ears! Perhaps we’d alter the surface of the earth, its environments?
Would that we were one expressive impressive cacophonous voice!
Would that we were?
I’d split into a willow tree dropping language-boulders from my fragile limbs. I’d erupt a perfect mountain steaming as a cold clear lake. I’d mud. I’d sprout as a milky pasture of weeds.
You’d Sousaphone in primary colors woven as a world-shawl. You’d be all the quiet stars, glimmering in their conflagration. You’d whisper through grain and aspen, moving through air like helium.
We’d crash without injury, fomenting monuments of grandeur. Melding our mysteries. You-topia. Humana-topia. “Other”-worldly.
Perhaps a universal dancing, a carnival of beauty so trouncing our balancing globe as to shatter it, sitting afloat or casting about – some atmospheric inferno. Perhaps a gaseous stench would burst forth, a deadly poison. Perhaps disaster. Apocalypse of invisible revealed.
We could surely say “we know not what we do” living mysteries, eh?
“Off the hook” even as it gores us.
Earthquaking order in riotous glee.
The maniac’s laugh.
A universe of blindness and flare.
Breaking the eggs, precarious shells.
No wonder veneers. Elaborate mechanisms.
Flexible and porous, rigid and finely tuned.
It wears out, the strain and stress: containing, defending.
What if we went right on ahead?
Plunged up out of deep waters, rocketing down from our skies?
Going through with our propensities: explosion/implosion?
What do you imagine? The beginning? The end?
A flood, a conflagration? Some perfect balance?
We hardly know ourselves, one another…
secrets give way to hiding, large blank territories blocking the unseen, from ourselves, one another…
we call eco-system, survival, “life.”
From here, right now, I want to release, to channel and broadcast – to expose without imposition, sing that I might hear, dance that I might see, enact in order to know…become some inward/outward thing, supernova and black hole at once…
nothing escaping, nothing withheld.
Who (what) are we?