An unexpected blog posting…

Posted: 9 May 2011 in Uncategorized

As you know, I have stopped writing this blog (for now).  But I check in from time to time to refer to something I wrote previously. Today when I signed in the following was here.  I thought it was spam.  I suspected someone had hacked my posts.  But then I read it and it seemed familiar.  I do not know from where (from when) it comes but… here it is.

It’s Happening on County Road 99

I am riding out to the farm like I do, sun warming already.  The fields drift by.  Tomatoes, alfalfa, vines, melons, corn.  A slow moving vehicle approaches and the van (green, old) behind decides to pass it coming at me in a rush.  I always hate that.  Dangerous.  And I am thinking, “Why can’t he just wait? What is the hurry?”

And I see something has gone wrong (tire blown, spilled coffee?) and he is coming sideways.  At me.

Everything is now and I see it all: a face, solid metal, a broken bike, a carcass.  And then I see—down the road at the shrine where another passed on.  He is standing there.

And I draw near (I can’t find words in the tongue of my infancy—for now I am “older”—for what it is, but I move, I come nigh, I cross space/time… I draw near).  And I see him by the shrine (a cross, ribbons and the pictures of him).  And the brokenness is stripped away and I see that healing has come.  He nods and I know that all is well.  He knows me.

And I am wondering… “Am I a ghost?  An apparition sent to haunt the green van man?”  And now I see him in the hospital.  And now I see him at home, on crutches with broken parts.  And now I see him “whole” but only in body. And now I see him brittle and angry.  And now I see him, bottle in hand…

And I draw near.  And I see that he is haunted.  But not by me.  I am not a ghost.  His mind is twisted and black and as I draw near I see that he is haunted by the memory of a choice.  He is tortured by a decision.  He sees the body.  Not broken. Oh no, that body is not broken.  It is pulverized.  No bone remains.  The skin torn away.  The insides strewn about in an unordered way. The whole like a melted candle that has flowed across the table in reds and browns and grays. And he sees it and it breaks something that I am thinking is his mind.

And I draw near and it peels back (the mind?).  Again the words of my childhood (for now I am much older) fail.  There is a new language but crossing into the old is not possible.  So I say again: it peels back, it is stripped away, the curtains part… And I see, as I draw near, that within the brokenness, within the pain, within the black is a spark.  A life.

And I draw near and I see that healing is now and now and now for the green van man.  But now torture.  Now pain. Now release.  Now hope.

And I see her, and her and him.  And in a different way their minds too are black and broken and sad and they weep… now. And further beyond them I see others who pain but as I draw near I see it stripped away…

And I draw near and I see the same spark that lies beyond.  And as I draw near the darkness here is peeled away too.  And now, and now and now is healing and release.

I am on CR 99.  The fields of tomato and alfalfa and corn are diseased and stricken.  I am seeing them as they are—bearing their fruit in pain.  Diminished by the years of neglect.  They too are tortured and they are stricken bearing the curse of a thousand generations of rape and neglect.  And I see that the fields and the machine that is striking me down are joined to the wars and the bombings and that the children and mothers who are swept along by the torrent are at one with the destruction of the fields and the horrific speed of the green van.  And I am seeing that they are all part of a desire, a yearning, a drive to live without limits.

And I draw near to the fields, to the mountains beyond, to the battlefields and urban slaughterhouses and as I go further in and further in I see it strip away—the brokenness, the fatigue, the groaning.  In it all is a spark.  As I draw near I see that it the healing is now and now and now.

How else can I explain?  I am unprepared for this.  No imagination.  No story. Nothing I know.

I see the body that is and is no more and I am knowing that all is moving towards the great unwinding—the great stripping away of the darkness and decay. And I am on CR 99 where it all begins (for me at least).

And you are wondering now “Is he alone? Is he a ‘wanderer?’”

I am not permitted to tell all of it (I can only say “I am not permitted”, but I do not know why… It is not the time), but what I am able to say is “No, I am not alone.  She is here (“here” is hard to explain) and she remembers.  He is here and he smiles, free of the drink that steals it all.  She is here and wears a feather.  They are here hand in hand.”

There is more to tell… But the telling is for now, and now and now…  It is happening on County Road 99 and I am hoping you will come and see.  But sure you will not.  Sure that you cannot.

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