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| History |
A vision revealed
Where I must go
To find the secrets
Of another life:
A dirt road, overgrown
With red maids and popcorn,
Winding up the hill
To the first ridge overlooking
Sycamore Creek. Surrounded
By fiddleneck brighter
Than gold, the miners left only
Dynamited holes
Near house pits
Trampled by cattle.
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| Redbud near Pounding Stone |
I scrambled
Next to waterfalls,
Through primeval woodlands
Until I found, on the second ridge,
A pounding stone, a pestle
Near mortars brimming
With water, a bobcat
Flowing by me less
Than five feet away. The slope
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| Pounding Stone Near Confluence of Three Streams |
Grew steeper as I struggled
Up the faintest trail
To the confluence of three streams,
Finding another pounding stone
And house pits on a ridge a few
Hundred feet from the top
Of the hill. In the wetness,
Under the buckeyes and oaks,
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| Personification of Over Soul |
I felt a presence, so foreign
To me in this life, but so familiar
To my soul, that I performed
A ritual of adoration for
The Over-Soul, as if
I had come back
To this ridge after
Many lives to experience again
Timeless currents
in the vast fields
Of earth and air
and water and light.
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| Ancient Trail |
I returned years later,
Straining the rest of the way
On hands and knees to the top,
Discovering an open pit
So deep I couldn’t see
The bottom, a semblance
Of the old Kings flowing
In the dried up reservoir
Off in the distance. Perhaps
I lived here once before
As a man digging
Holes his entire life,
Or as a shaman
Calling the spirits,
But at the summit,
I felt once again
One spirit flowing within
Everything we can know.
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