13. THE CROSSING
On a bleak desert horizon
An inky spot—approaching—
Splitting in cell division—
Two scribes in ancient garb
Walking side by side.
On their shoulders
An enormous drop of water
The liquid sphere my ancestors
Collected on the death mountain
And took up to the firmament
For safekeeping.
Yards away from where I stood
One scribe sprinkled temple dust
And a makeshift stage appeared.
A gesture summoned a chair
And I was seated
In front of the stage.
A screen unrolled and
After placing the sphere in front of it
One scribe posted himself beside it
The other stepped off the stage and I
At the apex of a triangle
Was to witness
The essence of my being
Perform.
*
The screen lit up with
Seeds swelling splitting
Stems rising twisting pushing up
Clusters of leaves unfolding—
The sphere mimicking every move
Each movement evoking
A vibrant sensation inside me
Experienced as if for the first time.
Thus the sphere and I faced
Deserts wetlands meadows forests
And pleated mountain ranges and
Rivers spilling into oceans.
When flora mutated to fauna
Creatures small and large
Paraded across the screen
Every one acutely aware
Of our presence—
Each peck and sniff on the screen
Each grunt and lick and snuggle
Letting me savor it
Like never before.
When fauna mutated to people
Faces fading in and out of focus
Made the sphere and me sway either
In mirror reflection or
In the opposing direction.
The scribe on the stage
Clicked on & off the imagery
The scribe on the ground
Articulated every effect
Staccato interpretations describing
What the essence of my being
And I were feeling.
After a string of pleasant sensations
The sphere slumped lethargic
And the scribe then
Changed the images faster
To rouse its attention.
Persistent agitation
Made the sphere spin erratic and
Slowing the changes
Calmed it down.
When the word-sputtering scribe
Asked that a scene be repeated
The second time around
Neither the sphere nor I
Responded to the same event
In the same way—inertia had already
Either accelerated or slowed down
The velocity of our inner states
Enough to intensify or
Diminish the initial effect.
*
In the far corners
Of this playground of gods
Four crosswinds were watching
The goings on and
When they started blowing
The sphere flapped like a sail
Lost its bearings and drifted
Onto the screen.
A foul-faced cloud hurled at
The intruder a hissing ball of fire but
Missing the unstable target
Inflamed the screen instead—
Licked by tongues of fire
The sphere turned white then
Blue then red and
Cart-wheeling whooshing
Like a wheel on fire—
The sphere
Now hilarious with joy
Breathless with power
Assaulted fire with fire.
Flames flickering over my head
I thought all went up in smoke
But no there it was—
The essence of my being rising
On the smoldering ash-grey screen
Victorious like the rising sun.
The shimmering teardrop
Rolled down the screen—
A trickle of water—a spring
Sprung jubilant
Suns dancing on its
Arching spine—
The sphere swooned
Dipped
Took a sip and imbibed
A will greater than its own.
In a wide embracing swoop
A long-armed undertow
Reached for it
And in overload with bliss
The sphere went under to
Where the future collects itself
In succulent dreams.
*
On the desert horizon
A pulsing quicksilver streak
Pushes up widening—
A fast rising thundering wall
Of water approaching—
In the wave's belly
The water eye huge unblinking
Fixed on me.
Staring back unblinking
I stalled the menace—
And then high up
In the cresting foam
I saw the liquid sphere
A hundred suns blinking.
My heart leapt when
The sphere bounced to
The spectral arch leaning against
The far edge of the water wall
And slid down the majestic rainbow
Bouncing away
Leaving a trail of flames
Behind—
Running after it
I caught on fire
Yet I did not burn—
Whatever I touched
The ground a twig a stone
I set on fire yet nothing
Was consumed—
A flame in a field of flames
I caught up with the sphere
And in my hands it was
No larger than a white pebble—
Alarmed I gasped—
Lest it vanish altogether—
And the pebble leaped and
Slipped in between my parted lips
And I swallowed.
Settling behind the breastbone
With a single-mindedness of purpose
The sun-spot tugged and
Like a bird in navigation
I saw the world up and coming—
My lungs full of shout
Tongue swelling to prophesy—
But no—
True to waves
The glory-glory-hallelujah
Did not last—
Back in that other world
Where things die
On contact with words
Only an impassioned senseless babble
Survives the crossing.
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