Tag: narrative

∴ in the backcountry’s tangles
time’s course twisted
minutes stretch
into moments sans end
against elemental force
survival insists
challenge meets, resolve persists ∴ 

∴ Last night, I found myself wandering over undulating hills, embarking on what felt like a meditative journey. The scenery seemed to blend familiar sanctuaries with unfamiliar landscapes, prompting contemplation about the nature of the practice ahead. Would it involve walking, sitting, or forest bathing? I wondered if I was supposed to lead any of these. What was certain, was that this sangha was free of dogma. These musings all floated lightly away on puffs of sencha-scented smoke as I continued along. 

As I strolled past a gazebo and a stone path adorned with shiny, metallic-looking stones—perhaps hematite or magnetite—my vision struggled to focus. Eventually, I reached my destination, where I was greeted by none other than David Bowie and Monica Bellucci. The surrealism of the moment struck me: Bowie, resembling his character from the movie Labyrinth, and Bellucci, embodying her role from Brotherhood of the Wolf (does anyone else remember this movie?). Alongside them was a figure reminiscent of a blend between Larry Coryell and Richard Feynman, garbed in mountain ascetic robes, strumming an air guitar to a faint tune.

It dawned on me that my mala beads were nowhere to be found. Rather than engaging in philosophical discourse about life, music, or cinema, I found myself consumed by the urgent quest to retrieve them. But why? It was then that I acknowledged the true absurdity of my predicament—I was in a dream! With a casual wave, I spring-jogged past Bellucci, Bowie, and Coryell-Feynman, intent on finding my beads, hoping it would be a brief departure, only to awaken. ∴¹

1. In this vivid dream, there was a multitude of nonsensical and unnecessary elements to sift through. It’s not common for me to encounter celebrity appearances, but having 3 to 4 of them was remarkable. The scent of sencha was particularly vivid, which is unusual for me as I rarely experience smells in my dreams. ↩︎

∴ forgotten chasm, torch & blade in hand |
where cairns dissolve, paths slip away |
stone glyphs won’t murmur, maps play hide-and-seek |
nature leads, step by step, into unknown |
·
bounding cliffs, nimble as goat-kangaroos |
past cairns, past clear paths, animal trails we traverse |
canyon challenges, primal & treacherous |
stone walls witness, rugged contours guide |
·
at the summit, glimpses of a distant tale |
ruins unveil remnants of a culture-defying time |
communal voices linger, echoes of rites of passage |
·
time to vanish, torchlight cuts through night |
a leap off the edge, rappelling into the abyss |
into darkness, where another adventure awaits ∴

∴ at the frontier’s edge
choral hymnals resonate in the boundless expanse
mountains rise and fall—an orchestration in stone
winds swirl and gust, in minuet and trio
rivers ebb and flow, a rondo alla sirocco sonata
·
beyond all constraints that tightly bind
in the darkness, the musical calculations silently spark
a delicate equilibrium,
may it move through, above, and below us
as we stand unwavering, conduits to the limitless symphony ∴

∴ hear the hurdy-gurdy’s play
thrum through urban hustle’s fray

listen to the complex rhythmic score
nuanced notes, unheard before

forty-two tones, a scale that’s vast
modulations swift, keys changing fast

harmonic sophistication in every chord
a melody unique, a creation adored

i toss in my coins, then go on my way
looking forward to tomorrow’s hurdy-gurdy play ∴

∴ My camera and I chased capuchins all through the jungle on another amazing day. The evening’s reward for my exertions is the bioluminescence setting the whole coast aglow. What a view! At night though, rest eludes me. With no imaginable endgame, kinkajous pelt my hut with all manner of missiles – seeds, rocks, nuts – you name it. Cheeky little buggers. Morning comes too soon. I wake disoriented, though the blood of a long line of naviguessers courses through my veins. Endless volumes of picture-perfect maps are stowed away in the recesses of my brain and yet I bungle about, searching for the morning blend that will surely get my GPS back online. After a nearly futile attempt to recalibrate my internal compass, I throw back my last gulp. Armed with determination and accompanied by my trusty hat, camera, and waterproof notebook, I am ready to dive back into the foliage. 123rd day of venturous monkey-chasing and I’ll be sure to sleep tonight! ∴

∴ this morning i awoke to the rhythmic beat of dragonfly wings,
to unnumbered days and a pulse untethered
in a place where time lingers undefined

do these dragonflies flit in the rising sun
spending precious moments in contemplation
worrying about what could’ve been
or do they never leave their pond
fearing the unknown

without further pause
i cast off my bedsheets
step into the sun-kissed dawn
and move to the rhythmic beat of dragonfly wings ∴