Camping at Malekahana
Camping at Malekahana 12/24/05 Day after Maya left for India on a month long vacation In that- By the Pacific ocean on a beach In the pacific ocean the land replies back Much has been said by men and women much like and unlike me , the Freudian tripartite self On surf and Sand Can I ask the damned owl of minerva Of what remains in that unreflectively dogmatic dialectic Did things change at all ? When in other times in these adjunct spaces of the sand were literal footprints or those metaphorical natives and non natives Is it the facts that are mutable? Is it our way of doing things that changes perceptions. raises or lowers consciousness The world making of the peoples & pebbles on these multitude of reality based beaches Who are we to talk about? Maya & Me Were we humans as the other sense of we refers to ever nappy in the unrestricted realms of it's platonic form Did we always wonder about the same awe in awfully adequate profoundly ponderous but ultimately unsonorous big questions of telos & causes & significances Caught up in a spiral vacuum of comprehensible or commendable purpose Maybe we mistake the abstract circular logics of our experiential existence Constantly seeking the transcendence into the sublime & the subtle Like the waves seek the perches of parrots in the old barks of long tall Banyan trees in the short distances across the shore under the false premise of quenching the thirst of the rainbow necked and Sun decked Poly's presumed quest for Water Resultant of an hermeneutics of dear darling's flight Validated by it's ordered regular presence Over the waves The tides end up in froth & foam Break up the rocks & make the sand wash the shores & watch it over Bleach the footprints or the beasts of burden Yet they continue to seek the holy perches in those unholy dark barks of now old oaks Serenely secure in their sole purpose they carry the ships and hardships of a specialized species homo sapiens But when the land gives a way When physics uncaringly dawns that destiny's day when the plates break like these innocent yet ignorant waves when these waves take their watery wares to the rooftop barks perches of Parrots dozing after tiring on their own sublime pears & peaches Unaware & unawake When the waves bring their watery wares to worship the holy sanctums ot those sunlit but yet darkly dim homes They submerge the Sublime and the Subtle in their wetness They themselves witness the marking or the many graves in their watery wares When their ecstasy subsides and they retreat Like many before and many after on paradises lost and Polly parrots dead In the wake of their motion inward The waves can only reflect the hazing blooming Sun In their newfound salience of resplendent brightness They augur augmented realities of salvations and end prophets } The waves then question the refusal or the parrots to fly away to safety & conclude that they witnessed scores of sublime suicides Dead parrots don't tell tall tales death doesn't permit the privilege of expression For death is the void of representation for death is the infinite capacity for communication limited by the l ability for comprehension By my poetic license let me speak on behalf of the by gone Polly & Molly Molly was a very young Polly Polly isn't cultured enough to carry Molly the rest as they say is dialectical history I don't know if they suffered for in death none do know nor do they care From the watery wares into the nowhere 1he Sublime then and there is serene p secure .