Place of Refuge

Place of Refuge

29 January 2011

. . . this thing of darkness . . . (a channelling)

What if it were to come to pass --
the passage no one
wants to imagine:
a massive                 
                            short circuit,

and all the lights
all over the earth
go out.

Even the sun
is shrouded

Our refrigerators would sputter
to a stop;
our cell phones blink
out into silence,
our automobiles would run
for a time, but
so what?
Where would we go?
The stores would empty fast;
the gas pumps flicker into impotency,
the wells, too.

Best to stay home and use the fuel
for heat
or light
or suicide.

What would happen then
when nigh
every little thing in
our throw-away culture becomes

There we would be, 
all of us,
clinging to our chilly
planet home
as she spins and turns
on her usual inconceivable path
in the machine of the universe.
Mindless, numb,
intent on survival
we would be rendered
the very animals that we are.

~ ~

If you met me on the road
in the deep dark endless night
you would sense it was me and I
would know it was you.

Would you kill me
and eat me
and use my skin to make yourself
an extra layer of skin
to fend off the cold?

You might, mightn't you?

But would it really make sense --
me, the one with the brain too large, and
you the one with the will of equal size

For the moment, of course, you would be convinced
the conquest was just,
its outcome satisfying --

that is until the light
returned, and there you would be,
dressed in a little bit of me
and mindless;

                                              the ruins of society
                                               would surround you,
                                                                  and you
                                                 would have no clue
                                      how to fix it.

~ ~ ~

We human creatures
are mind, body and spirit, combined,
each of us to varying degrees.

If the lights all went out
the element in us
that hides in the dark
(the element that many pretend not to own)
would emerge,
and flourish,
its anger equal
to the disgust
we leveled towards it in broad daylight,
its exploits as large as the repression
we bound it with.
~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~

I woke up last night
with these words
in my mouth,
words that would be sense-
less in the primitivity
such a black-out would produce.

I stared into the darkness,
felt the familiar contours
of my frame
and prayed
for wisdom --

not for me,
but for all humans
who refuse to acknowledge
our comforts are temporary,
and our hidden desires 
of the extra ordinary.

( sisu )

. . . this thing of darkness,
I acknowledge,
                   mine. . . . . .
(Prospero, Act 5 The Tempest)

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