And saw eternity,

Traveling through time to great me.

He settled down beside me

And spoke of all the wonders he had seen.




“The stars are surely great,” said he,

“And nebulae wil always be

A favorite of mine.

But in this whole wide galazy

Never will there ever be

Something of my own.”




“Surely,” said I “there are things out there

As timeless as you are.

Something out there of your kind.




“Many things may seem to be

As perminant as eternity

To a creature such as you.

But your mountains, even your planet you see

Fade away so quickly

Even your sun will wink out soon.”




“I know my own existance is fleating

That even my sun, my galaxy is a passing moment

In the great scheme of everything.

But what of things like God, love, death,

Do these things not wax eternal?”




Then he turned and laughed at me,

“Have you ever had a love constantly

For even your whole life?

And death is just a way to be,

Fleeting as your life can seem

One more state of existence.”




“And what of God,” I asked him again.

“Surely the creator of everything, even you

Must be your equal, something you can connect to.”




“Ha!” he laughed out loud at me

“You think God is older than eternity?

I have seen a thousand Gods.

They ome and make their prodgeny

Play out their little fantasies

Then wink out like everything else.”




“Then I suppose the universe even

Is not eternal enough for you.

That universes come and gol

Perhaps if you are the only thing eternal,

You must create something to call yours.”




“Now you have it,” he said to me

“The universe entirely

Is short lived from my view.

But alas, the curse of me

I came into existance to see

To observe, not to create.”




“But if you are truly eternal,

Are not your memories of everything

As eternal as you are?




“Perhaps,” he said as he looked at me

“And if all of my memories

Could be molded into something.

A never ending litany

A tale to keep me company

Existing, lasting and mine.”




Then he shot back up into the sky

Following the starlight back to forever.

I don’t know what he made of his memories

or if they really followed him always

But that night, the vast sky looked a little less lonely.

I Have Touched God

I have touched God.

Stood at His table

Partaken of His flesh.

I have felt that moment of elation.

The lightening of my load

The lifting of my burden.

I have had a moment of peace

In the presence of God.

And it feels amazing.

That one moment, when I am a part of something

More than me.

But it is fleeting.

Just one moment, then I am back to something

Unholy.

I have touched God.

Through His ritual

Sitting in His house.

I have felt that moment of elation

But it always passes on

Leaving me in its wake.

I just cannot quite believe

In the presence of God.

Untitled

I have touched God

Seen Him

Called Him by name

I know what you speak of

The power of God

His grace

His presence

His love.

But when I see what you see,

When I feel what you feel,

Why is it I just see

Life

People

The universe,

And not a deity?

Oh, you’re like tastin’ fire…

The rhythm of the music pulses, a slow heart beat. I move, just slightly, my body swaying a little in time to the rough guitar. My soul swooping with the plaintive voice of the singer.

I’m ready to drink you like wine…

He approaches me, on the edge of the dance floor. His eyes lock on mine, beckoning me into the crowd. I follow, matching his rhythm. Without touching me, he brings me in close. Our breath mingles for a moment before I turn away slowly, silently daring him to follow.

You been makin’ me fall right out of my mind…

He catches my hip, pulls me back against him. One arm around my waist, the other takes my hand, raises it above my head.

Baby, I’ve been shaking your peaches…

We sway together , walk together, glide together through the crowd. He spins me slowly around so I face him, drapes my arm over his shoulder and we sink down.

The matches in my chest…

He pulls me in close, his movements getting smaller and smaller until I can barely tell if we’re moving, or if the world is moving around us. He nudges my knee with his, shifts his weight just slightly, the smallest motion keeping us dancing.

Sets me free…

Suddenly our movements are big again. He spins me out, pulls me back in. We collide, briefly occupying the same space.

Caught a glimpse today…

I cling to him, he moves my body like his own.

All things move in their own time…

Arms wrapped around each other. So intertwined it’s hard to tell where I end and he begins.

Check your watch again…

Breath in my ear, I can hear it now as the music slows.

I can see…

The last longing lyrics stretch through the air.

That we are ticking closer…

We turn and sink into a dip, melting into one another, into the last notes.

To reality.

The music starts again, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. The dim lights throw a myriad of shadows over the few couples on the floor, already dancing. He stands before me, his eyes seek out mine, beckoning me to him.

“I heard there was a secret court…”

I take a step forward, then another, slowly making my way onto the dance floor with his eyes staying a few steps a head of me. The music rises, I close my eyes and sway my body. After only a moment, I feel a hand on my bak, replacing the connection lost when I closed my eyes. His hand runs over my shoulder, down my arm, finally taking my hand and pulling me in close. My body, pressed against his. I turn my head and nestled my cheek against his chest.

“It goes like this, the fourth the fifth…”

He moves a little, swaying his body, testing. I move with him, I am part of him. His movement grows bolder as he sweeps around the dance floor, taking me with him on every step. We break away, I am spun out, we come back together, always in perfect sync as we dance with one mind.

“She tied you to a kitchen chair…”

He spins me out, places my hand on his chest. Caught up in the dance, the song, I shove him away.

“She broke your throne and she cut your hair…”

He stumbles back, regains his footing, slides towards me, falling to his knees at my feet.

“And from your lips she drew the hallelujah…”

My hand rests on the top of his head, tangling in his hair for a moment until he stands and my hand trails over his body, down his arm as he gathers me in close again.

The floor is full now, couples sway on all sides of us as we dance. My cheek pressed into his chest, I close my eyes, feel him ore, the other couples disappear and it is just the two of us. I can hear his voice rumble as he echoes the lyrics of the song.

“It’s not a cry you can hear at night…”

His voice ripples through me. He throws my arm around his neck and dips me a little, but not enough to pull away from the embrace we share.

“It’s not somebody who’s seen the light…”

His voice compels me to join in the song.

“It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah…”

I am suddenly reminded of the other couples on the floor as their voices join in, sending the song, the dance, all of us into the rafters.”

“Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah…”

We danced amid the crowd

Bodies shared,

Souls paired on the dance floor.

I am lying,

In your arms.

Our passion rose and grew,

Embodied

In the notes of the song.

Hands dancing

My heart.

The night was over,

And yet

We danced through the dawn.

Your lips

I gasp.

We share a moment,

You whisper to me.

We have connected,

Right now, I am yours.

“I don’t know what you done to me, but I know this much is true…”

The rich notes of the southern blues sink into the air, leaving it thick and sticky, as do the dozen or so people trying to find room on the tiny dance floor. Unknown bodies brush against my back, my arms, my legs, but what I really care about is the arm wrapped around my back, the chest I am pressed against, the cheek I lean my head against. Held like this, his every move is mine. He breathes deeply and I inhale. He moves and I follow, we pulse to the raw rhythm of the music. Rocking back and forth, my hips sway, accentuating, enhancing our movement. He starts suddenly, making for a bigger spot on the dance floor and I tighten my arm around his shoulders, holding on as he sweeps me away.

“I want to do bad things with you…”

A quick move, a turn and I am facing away from him, my back pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped around my waist. I can see the rest of the dancers, pulsing and writhing with the music, but my sight is turned inward. All I can see is my own movement, our movement. I close my eyes so I can better see the abstract shapes and whirls that become the dance. I feel the shape of his body behind me, feel him lift my arm, up and back so that it trails down the side of his face. I wrap my hand behind his head, pressing closer to him, trying to become one body swaying, pulsing, dancing to the heavy notes of the music. Another turn and I’m facing him again, forehead to forehead, our sweat mingling. His hands on my waist, he tosses me up and for a moment I am weightless, flying. He catches me again slowly brings me back to the ground, sliding my body down his as if the momentary loss of contact was too much and he needs to make up for it. I am back in his arms again, the music slowing.

“I want to do real bad things with you.”

He sweeps my arm up and over his shoulder, wraps his arms around me and leans me backwards a little, following me with his body. My leg wraps around his and as the music fades we slowly straighten. The last notes of the song reverberate through the room but we just stand, entangled, one person, one soul wrapped up by the last of the music.

Soft, sinking, drinking in the cradling warmth

Of the thick, compressing liquid.

I’m buoyed.

On my back, staring at the stars

Pin pricks in inky black, dusted by the galaxy.

Sulfurous fumes penetrate my starry gaze

They leave me dazed.

Lush, but rough, the forest of the desert.

If you don’t look too close

All you see is soft and green.

A dusting of color mid grasses and leaves.

But on a closer introspection

One sees the desert in reflection

Harsh and dry and tough besides

Hidden beneath a facade of green.

Little white spider
Crawls across my dark pants.
Negotiating wrinkles in the fabric
Like vast crevasses in his landscape

I pause from writing,
Prod him with my pen.
But he doesn’t scurry away.

He stops.
Takes a step back.
But he is fearless of my onslaught..

All he sees is a small object
Suddenly in his way.
If he could see the whole of me
Know the giant he faced,
Would he be so courageous?

Sing me a heartache,
Dance me a love,
As true as the North wind
Come down from above.

Paint me a memory,
Sculpt me a dream,
As deep and as clear
As a swift mountain stream.

Sow me a solitude,
Reap me a friend,
To always stand by me
Till time’s bitter end.

Sing me a heartache,
But one I can bear,
So that I won’t realize
You’re no longer there.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow,

For he’s a jolly good fellow,

For he’s a jolly good fellow,

That nobody can deny.”

John Walker was exstatic. Surrounded by the smiling faces of his co-workers, he felt happier than he had in years.

“Speach,” came the cry from the back of the room, quickly picked up by others until it was reverberating off the walls.

John put down his half empty glass of champagne and stood up to a resounding cheer. The room wend slowly silent.

“Friends. My dear, dear friends,” he said, the last word catching in his throat. “It has been an honor working here with all of you for the last forty five years.” Another wave of cheering rippled through the room. “I will miss you all,” John said with a sad smile. “But not too much once I hit the beach!”

The crowd roared again and John Walker took his seat and downed the rest of his champagne quickly, before the back slapping commenced. His glass was refilled and a huge cake was set before him.

“Happy Retirement, from Proctor and Gambel,” said the LCD display embedded in the cake. “Don’t forget to pack your Bannana Boat sunscreen when you leave!”

John ignored the advertising out of habit and cut himself the traditional first piece. The rest of the cake was whisked away and divided up while he sank his fork into the dry cake and cheap frosting.

“You know Dave,” John said to a friend sitting next to him. “I can remember when these retirement cakes actually tasted like something.”

“Hey,” said Dave, “You know what it’s like. People are living longer and longer, it’s getting more expensive for companies to take care of their people who are in retirement. Who are we to begrudge them saving money on cake.”

“Phaw,” replied John as he put down his partly eaten cake. “How much can they really be saving.”

“Hey,” said Dave, picking up John’s leftovers. “Which do you prefer, good cake, or a good doctor down there in Brazil? Quit your whining and be happy,” he said poking John with his fork. “Today’s your retirement day!”

*     *     *     *

After several more hearty goodbyes and some last minute hugs, John finally found himself alone in his car making the short drive home for the last time. He prodded at his radio until the news came on.

“Temperatures today in The Bay Area should be manageable, with the high only in the low 80s. However, the winds that were expected don’t look like they’ll be showing up, so if you had plans to try a little star gazing tonight, you may want to rethink that and stay home, because the smog will still be an issue. On the other hand, that should let you stay home and watch other stars dance in tonight’s premier of “Dancing with the Corporate Stars” featuring CEOs from many of the major companies, including Wal-Mart, this station’s sponsor. Now for world news with Lisa.”

“Thanks Tom. Another triumph in the ongoing offensive by Wal-Mart Co. in Somalia today. Wal-Mart troops sucessfully secured Eyl, a port city that has been a safe haven for the Somali pirates who still resist the provisional government. Wal-Mart VP Patrick DeLane released a statement saying, quote, this is a great stride forward towards bringing to Somalia the same kind of peace and stability that Wal-Mart and other companies have brought to South America. We are truely doing God’s work!

The body count on todays offensive is currently in question, with Wal-Mart quoting no more than two dozen dead civilians, compared to the upwards of two hundred estimate being given by the few U.N. observers who still remain in Somalia. However, we here at CNN must note that none of these observers have bothered to travel to Eyl themselves and are relying entirely on reports from locals, some of whom may even be rebels or pirates themselves. And now for a word from our sponsor.”

As the familiar Wal-Mart jingle came on, John punched the off button.

“Damn advertisements,” he mumbled to himself. “More of them than there is news it seems.” He shook his head as he pulled into the driveway of his corporate track housing and watched a moment as more advertising scrolled across his garage door. He shrugged, turned off his car, went inside.

*   *   *   *

“Grandpa!” was the exulted cry that greeted him as soon as he walked in the door.

“Hey sweetheart,” John replied, catching the small, pig-tailed little girl up in his arms. He held her tightly, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek against hers.

“Hey Dad,” came the sound of another voice from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready, pulled some strings and got your favorites. Patty, why don’t you help Grandpa set the table.”

“I’ll go get the dishes if you want to start out here,” said John to his Granddaughter as he put her down. She scampered off happily towards the dinning room. John entered the kitchen and made straight for the stove. He leaned over his daughter and took an exaggerated sniff at the food.

“Mmm… Kraft singles grilled cheese, and Campbell’s Tomato soup. Smells good, Jenny.”

“You’ll never believe what I managed to find for desert. Go look in the freezer.”

John walked two steps across the tiny kitchen and opened the freezer door. Reading the label on the cheep cardboard box he exclaimed, “Drumsticks! I haven’t had drumsticks since your mother left Nestle twenty years ago!”

“I know, but I know you love them, so I convinced Martha, that girl in my yoga class, to smuggle some for me. I’m not sure she would have done it for any other reason, but for a retirement dinner, I was able to convince her.”

John closed the door and turned to look at his daughter, bent over the pot on the stove. She felt his stare and turned around. She watched as a tear slowly rolled down his cheek. “Oh Dad,” she said, putting down the spoon and closing the small gap between them to give him a hug. “Once you get to the beach with Mom, you won’t even think twice about me a Patty.”

“That’s not true,” managed John, holding his daughter tightly.

“No, I know that, but you will be happy there. And we’ll still keep in touch. I send you video of all Patty’s school plays, it will be just like you’re still here.”

John sighed. “Well,” he said, disengaging himself from the hug. “When your child starts to comfort you, you know it’s time to get out before the universe explodes.”

Jenny smiled at her Dad’s bravado, but bravely followed suit. “Indeed. And when they have to tell you to set the table so we can eat and go to bed, because they have to get up early, it’s time to kick them out.” John smiled and went to get dishes.

*   *   *   *

After dinner, the family gathered in front of the TV in the living room. Patty immediately pulled out a doll and sat with it on the floor while John and Jenny turned  their attention to the upcoming program. But John quickly lost interest in following a day in the life of P & G’s illustrious CEO and focused his attention on the Patty playing at his feet. His heart wrenched when he thought about leaving her, not getting to see her play like this again.

“Hey Dad,” interrupted Jenny with a gentle elbow to the ribs. “That’s where you’re going to be in just a few short hours.” Jenny gestured excitedly at the ad that had just come on TV.

“Competitive pay and fun office parties make working for us a breeze. And with 500 more miles of pristine beaches than any other company, guaranteed family only residences and the highest rated retirement healthcare in the world, we take better care of our retirees than you’ll find anywhere else. It’s clear that Proctor and Gamble is the place where happy people work, shop and live.”

“Just look at how clean those beaches are Dad,” drooled Jenny, leaning towards the evocative pictures. “The sun, the clear water, you sure you can’t fit me in your suitcase. Even just a short vacation would do me good, I haven’t seen that kind of sun since I was a little girl.”

“Oh, if I could take both of you, you know I would,” replied John, putting an arm around his daughter and hugging her close. A single tear ran down his cheek and into Jenny’s hair.

“Dad, don’t cry,” said Jenny, sitting up and taking his hands. “You’ll be seeing mom and going out on that beach and having the time of your life in no time at all. You’ll see, everyone always says it’s amazing. Remember some of Mom’s first letters. They were glowing! She’s had such a good time, I’m sure once you get there and see her, you will too.”

John smiled at his daughter. “Yep, time for me to leave, if only so my daughter doesn’t keep worrying about my happiness.”

“You’ll love it Dad, you’ll see.”

“I’m sure I will. I think I’ll head to bed, it is an early flight.”

“All right night Dad. Patty say good night.”

Patty jumped up and hugged her Grandpa tightly. John hugged her back, and while he realized this was possibly the last hug we would ever get from her, he found the image of the bright blue water fighting for space in his head.

*   *   *   *

After a last tearful hug from his daughter, John picked up his suitcase and walked out onto the tarmac. The plane was huge and had a long line of excited retirees walking up a short flight of stairs to the bottom level of the plane. A plump, red faced woman in front of John turned around when they were about halfway through the line.

“So many of us going this year,” she said to him, turning even redder with excitement.

“Two years ago, my best friend retired and there weren’t even half as many in her plane!”

“Yes,” John replied half-heartedly. “My wife retired last year and I don’t remember this many.”

“Oh, how sweet,” gurgled the woman, taking a few steps forward as the line moved. “You’ll have a lover’s reunion when we get there. You did write and tell her when your plane lands?”

“Yes I did,” John siad trying his best to politely discourage conversation He was still feeling down about leaving his daughter and didn’t feel much like talking.

“It’s too bad we only have traditional mail,” the woman prattled on, ignoring John’s lack of enthusiasm. “I don’t know what I’ll do with out email. I understand it’s hard to lay lines down through the jungle and the few rebels who are left are always digging up the lines they do put down but still, it will be so strange having to wait for mail.”

“It will,” said John distractedly

“And newspapers, real paper newspapers…” the woman continued, oblivious of the fact that her audience was no longer listening.

He was looking back at the airport, trying to glimpse one last time, the family he was leaving behind. It was then that he noticed a small group of men in well cut business suits leave the terminal and walk over his head on a clear plastic bridge, heading to another door, higher up on the plane.

“Corporate bigwigs,” he muttered, shaking his head at how, through even a small act like boarding a plane, they flaunted their superiority.

“What was that dear?” said the woman, a little irritated at being interrupted. John looked up, afraid he was caught, but breathed an internal sigh of relief when he looked at the line in front of them.

“Line’s moving,” he said, as he picked up his bag.

* * * * *

When John boarded the plane he made sure to select the last seat in a row to ensure the red faced wonam wouldn’t bother him for the whole flight. He needn’t have worried though because she sat herself with a small group of similar, pudgy and excited women who were all pulling out their knitting in the back of the plane. Instead, John ended up happily in an aisle seat next to a small, mousy man who had already burried himself in a book.

John strapped himself in a pulled out his own book, just in time to put it down again for the pre-flight announcements.

An attractive and cheery stewardess stood up at the front of the plane.

“Hello and welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen to the last flight you will ever need to take!”

Her statement was greated by a hearty round of cheers.

“Congratulations to you all, we’ll have champagne and caviar to bring around to you as soon as we take off.” This produced a smattering of laughts. Everyone knew the company was too cheep for that. “But first, a few safety announcements. The emergency exits on this air craft are…”

John tuned out the stewerdess and sureptitiously re-opened his book. She was cute and perky, it was true, but John had sat through so many of these before that he probably could have given the speech if she had asked him to. He glanced over at his seat mate who had also reopened his book. He smiled to himself, “At least I’m in for a quiet flight.”

* * * * *

The stewardess smiled one last true, performed a small curtsy to a few claps from her audience and turned back to the forward cabin of the aircraft.

“We’re all set to go Bob,” she said to the pilot.

“All right,” he said, with a kind smile. “Get upstairs and buckle yourself in and we’ll get started. Bob threw a couple switches in the cockpit and the plane roared to life. As he taxied to the runway he idly fingered a big red button on the right side of all his displays. The button was dark and rattled hollowly as the pilot tapped out a dreary rhythm.

“Flight 2853, you have a go for take off on runway eight. Please confirm you are at runway eight and acknowledge a go for takeoff.”

Bob flipped a switch on his radio.

“Roger that flight, I am at runway eight and am ready for take off.”

“God speed flight 2853.”

Bob snorted derisively at the send off and cast a wary glance at the button.

“God pays no attention to these flights.”

* * * * *

In the top portion of the airplane, the executives spent the flight lounging around on couches, sipping the champagne that had been jestingly offered to the people below.

“So, Jameson,” said an older, portly gentleman. “This is your first trip to the resort, isn’t it?”

Jameson, a young, ambitious looking sort replied, “It is sir and may I say, it’s quite an honor.”

“Of course it is,” broke in another gentleman and others murmured in ascent.

“I remember my first trip,” said the first man, finishing off his champagne in one last gulp. “It was in the early days, before they had done too much with it and it was mostly just your standard island getaway filled with tiki torches and barely clean women. Ha, it’s lots better now my boy,” he said, patting Jameson on the back. “You’re going to love it.”

“well, I’m certainly looking forward…” He was interrupted by a bump in the flight and the sound of air rushing out somewhere below him.

“What the devil was that?”

The two most senior executives locked eyes for a brief moment.

“Purely routine,” said the older man leaving back in his seat. “They just depressurized the cargo bay.”