And then there was Robert. He picked me from a crowd in order to further awaken me to who I really am. When I asked him why, he replied, “Someone once did this for me. Someday you must do it for another.”
I carry what I call a glorious debt, so I write. I write of the mountains of my youth, of old caring men, of a loved wife and daughter, of life constantly trying to expose itself, and of what it means to be a human in the face of mystery. There are very few takers. If there were the grace would surely overtake me, for I could pay down my glorious debt.
The Dusty Feather of Flight
Great red rocks tower over the Santa Ynez
and the ancient spirits of time and place seem
as real as the stone.
Young people come here restless to party and drink,
then climb the red towers and
throw themselves down to the river
barely missing the rocks.
Some do not miss.
A few hundred feet away we walk the dirt road
lined with sedimentary rock and white sage
and by the road
a redtail dead from some unknown cause.
I kneel, turn it over,
gently pluck a long feather from its wing
to hand to my daughter,
Keep this I say, it is an omen
a gesture from the spirits to you.
Behind us the young ones throw themselves down
over and over
desperately seeking the sensation of flight.
Here is the dusty way, its creatures,
its gifts,
this poem a feather.
Article comments
1 - Victor Lana
John, this is simply magnificent. We all write for our own reasons, but you illuminate yours so well. I wish you all the best with your writing now and in the years ahead.
2 - Elvira Black
Terrific post, John. Thanks for this glimpse into your life and soul and what drives you to write, as all true writers must.
3 - Richard Marcus
John, Beautifully articulate as usual. You really have a talent for litteraly going to the heart of the matter. I stand in awe and envy that ability to send your arrows on such a direct path to their target. Mine seem to waver in flight, take weird directions, and the final approach is circumspect at best.
Finding the balance between spirt and reality and avoiding the deadfalls of "newagism" is the challange facing authors who write along the lines you have chosen. As usual you navigate that difficult path flawlessly.
The difference is that you don't write for self-glorification or set yourself up as something above the rest of the struggling masses. You ask the right questions, and talk about your search for the answers, which is far more important then saying you know the answers.
Richard Marcus
4 - John Spivey
Victor, Elvira, Richard--
I thank you all for your kind words. Sometimes the words work.
John