I Need This Palace
Late night. The crickets sings. I don’t sleep. I wake, light a candle, and read beautiful Hafiz poems and Koran. My cabin is a cranium, the door a mouth, and the deck its tongue. I walk out of the head, through the mouth, onto the tongue, and fall into space as a song. Quiet settles in me. It grows too cold for the cricket. I close the window and lean toward the candle.
Ravenrock’s beauty—others rhapsodize more than I do. I huddle in Her quiet. A shriveled creature, I wait to uncrumple. Ravenrock lets me rest on her cheek while she sings. I am a tear. Wind, blow me away. I may fall like old flesh off the rock cliff bone.
I go for a walk. Ponderosa’s vanilla perfume, sheer after the rain! I press my nose into the long, sap-glistened rent in her bark, then trace a rock’s pale green lichen upholstery before I sit. My feet rest on spongy pine needle carpets. I need this palace. I need the choirs and light shows—that huge movie playing every evening from the seat on my deck. “Peace, break my sadness, rage, guilt!” I’ll dump these false troubles, these holdings. I will.
“You carry all the ingredients to turn your life into a nightmare—Don’t mix them!
You carry all the ingredients to turn your existence into joy.
Mix them, mix