Mystic Journey: Fire 1
overhead sun is blinding. when we stare into
it, then turn aside, the world seems cold
and dark. a moment before it was warm
and bright. peered at through a pile of old
photograph negatives, it's a pale fire mortal
eyes can endure, but only a moment in time.
and so we must wait, not being allowed
to look upon the raw flame until we can see
only a blood red wafer being swallowed
into the mouth of dying day, as when day
itself dissolves into the cold, dark underbelly
of night. we must wait for that time when
layers of rose-color cloud mask the weary
fire, stripping it of its power. wait then
with the wise who say, 'dusk is climax of day, '
a replay of recent themes. then what can
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poem by Doug Bentley
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Mystic Journey: Water
a gray metal tanker berths on grey metal sea
like a new-born cocooned on mother's bosom.
transporting tons of vital oil, it has come
from the north, and winter, east and night,
challenging currents. it was along aleutian
shores, facing furious siberian storms that
shatter human skull like eggshell that he
handed over control of autonomic functions
of his charge to the bridge. now he maps
solely by instinct (half-forgotten memories
of half-forgotten youth startle like robins
or scent of elm sap stuck to familiar palm.
endless waves of wheat starched like sunday
shirts beyond an old battered barn: perhaps
the whole world is only an endless ocean
of grain? a slow canoe ride down a slow
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poem by Doug Bentley
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Mystic Journey: Air 2
across the equator, past singapore (lion
city which guards gates to mystic orient
of the soul) , on and on and on, into open
indian ocean the ship soared over dormant
volcanoes which buried magnificent stone
cities of legendary lost Mu, first empire
of the sun. unrolling scrolls on sacred
myths, all cultures point to one beginning
in that e.din lost. it is there that, as salmon
spawning do, souls of the dead seek origin,
flipping through windless, waveless days alone
where heat and humidity perfectly mirror
the body. the body become an ocean, no
division between inner and outer was any
longer felt. no division too between blue
sea and blue sky, two suns blinded day.
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poem by Doug Bentley
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