Ode to a Sunflower


            I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light.

            I was walking alone in desolation when I encountered the blinding sight of my sunflower. There it was staring at me with its inviting eyes, eyes which seemed a little lost, a little troubled, a little like mine. My hand trembled as it wiped the disbelief from my vision. The seeds which I had planted in an attempt to dispel my restless woes had sprout up in a seemingly un-fertile place, a place where I could not fathom I would find my Sunflower. But there it was in all its beauty: eloquent, mysterious and enchanting. A vivid portrait of heavenly grace. all could witness , yet,  one could  possess.

  I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light.

From the moment I found my sunflower I did my best to nurture it, watering its spirit from sunrise to sunset. The beauty for which it possessed was captivating; stirring my very being like no other flower has prior. I spent days, months and years analyzing this gem. I wondered why this sunflower was so singular in its splendor, why after so long in my possession was it still shining brighter than a summer star painted against a black night. My admiration and love for this sunflower matured uncontrollably, cultivating in a whirlwind of blissful sunshine.

  I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light.
            
Though my sunflower possesses the strength of a thousand armies and the magnificence of a thousand smiles, I sense a feeling of weakness when the wicked birds of prey attempt to uproot it from its rightful plot. I caress its pedals and speak to it softly assuring that there is a purpose for the gloom, and that upon all of us the rain of opposition will fall. I clutch its head into mine as splendid pedals of fluorescent beauty tickle my face, making me blush with joy. I whisper to my sunflower as I drop my seed next to her stalk, and I tell it that no matter what storms may sing, there will be no challenge to our garden as long as we continue to grow together.

When the sunrise kisses the sky and meets the the vast canvas with fluorescent splashes of love I know it's you. When I watch the violets violently push their way through the soil searching for your light I feel as if I'm looking into a mirror. Every so often I arise from my midnight slumber and gaze upon the lifeless world and wait for the morning dew to dance against the leaves I, quietly ponder your journey, Jesus, The heart & tenderness of life who pours love over this sorrowful sphere of souls. I missed the days of your prestigious youth as you "born by a river in a lil' tent"- and we should have known then that "A change was gonna come". Before long you were walking the roads of jerusalem healing the sick, rasing the dead as beams of his fathers light fell upon his head. I missed the day John dipped his gracious head and his spirit fled into the immense depths cascading along towards the pure stream of inifinite life.  Far below your rightful place you performed the great hymm of love, blowing peaceful choruses to your orchestra of twelve, with a simple stroke of the bow. Here, There & Everywhere people of all walks of life heard about this man spreading love and bliss but I guess it just wasn't enough, as he was betrayed by a kiss. And in the night this man was moaning, in the night the ground was groaning, in the night the price was paid, yet after the night the world would be saved. So the next morning he had awoken aware of what the judge had spoken, beaten with massive blood loss, his fate to die on the cross!... So he had to die for our sins as he dangled on the cross like hair does a bobby pin. And I can Imagine upon his last breath we were given our first, an eternal quench  of our thirst. And so he had to renounce his earthly home as his spirit fled to his heavenly throne. His death was for us, for our cycle of life to continue.Even nature is englufed into his plan, just like the silent trees cradle the songbird God cradles man. Jack Kerouac spoke to me one night;glowing, illuminated prose set from the tip of his ink glaring off of the ruffled, dusty beat book and he said Ryan... "Man loves in lilly's and lives in milk and in his milk he lives in creamy emptiness"- (yeah, I hear you jack)- So I ask when will man, like a young calf feeding from his mother, draw from your word which is filled with immense light and creamy fullfilment. And this word was put here to illuminate our souls so we can rise in boundless love from the prison of doubt to the freedom of love.. Is it too late... and when the Storms sing, and floods us all will we stand there and moan, frozen in spirit?...when we see him sounding the horizon with flames in his eyes will we give him holy redemtion?.. . When the sky cracks against the dismal night, and his hand  stretched out, like it always was from the beginning, will your heart finally become welcoming?... When the world begins to tremble will we do the same and make the mistake and feel we are dismissed from the betrayal of our own kiss. I feel like we are weighed down under a tomb of ignorance and have fallen from our mothers womb, punished by doubt, that gloomy bird that strikes us with his wings and pushes us further into dark sands of eternity. Now, I am not saying that I am completely free from the ignorance...for at times I've turned the blinds on his light, in fright that I was in the wrong place  as darkness shadowed my weary face. I felt like the vulture standing over a dead carcas, thinking, maybe this doesn't belong to me, maybe I shouldn't sink my teeth into his flesh. My life was vaguely lit like the winter moon, as fear traced my every move.  I let his love be ignored, At times I would throw him a kiss into a pale ray just to say this is me, I wonder if you hear me, do you see?, your child so caught up in a crippling fear of expression, sitting here listening to the tick and the tock two sounds so prevalent to a sheep out of flock, yet all the while waiting patiently like a boat at the dock sitting here waiting for you to realease my anchor and allow this ramblin' mind to tred along the rippling waters of your spirit. Bob Dylan -  prophet of captivating thought once said: "He not busy being born is busy dying"- oh yes, I hear you Dylan and that the conductor of our life drives a slow train and he's waiting for you to drop your luggage and only then can you hear his train-a -comin'. And since that morning after listening to the rain and melancholoy sounds of John Coltrane I realized that I must acknowledge him, pursue him, and come to a resolution that he truly is a perfect being our one and only love supreme. So, I lastly say to you, beautiful lost souls of undeveloped spirit- Love is the source of your being, so unlock the chains to your sunflower- gypsy - butterfly soul and spread your wings and fly. Set yourself free from the decaying flesh of man and woman who suffer your radiant thoughts, thoughts so deeply seeped into the lamb, yet ,slaughtered like the pig in the farm-green, cool, spring wind. Never mind the words of man rather the words of the lamb.

I
She was distinctively radiant amongst the other schoolyard Angels. The smile- yes the smile, the one which glimmered against my soul silently, dancing every time our eyes connected. She- angelically pure, innocent, gentle as a fawn, awoke me to the possibilities of young love. The cobblestone romance (St.Patrick’s Catholic school, child grooming for the middle class) grew uncontrobaly, over shadowed by parental influence, Shakespearean at times. Yet amidst the confusion there was always that sweet sound of R&B; penetrating the mind of two souls on a dusty road. And yes the road was dusty, blinding, worn, but there was lost beauty in the road they shared, A stolen fragment in time. (“Little boy Lost, oh little boy lost – oh William Blake  not now) a young man lost in un-warranted kick’s, let her hand slip…slowly….yet surely.
II
The haunting of time! time which they once shared. It’s funny to think of her now with lost eyes; broken pieces of time scattered on the ground; eternal images of her reflection slowly howling. When he ponders the frozen moment it produces smiles, smiles which can never be taken away. There were days when her scent was close to his nose, light winds of nostalgic breeze tickling the notion of remembrance, her electric current blazing through his soul in hopeless bliss. The two souls eventually found their own roads (distant) but the flame in her eyes never forgotten.
III
The Sunlight slowly began to fade on a brilliant day, hints of the sunlight’s glory painting its last masterpiece against the open sky and he writing it all down out the windowsill of his eyes. Nervous anticipation of broken time exists in his soul; it was like meeting someone for the first time, again. The slow wind gathered against his scarf making him shiver with anxiety while the familiar eyes locked, internally smiling. When she spoke it was as nothing had changed, the shyness dissipating into coffee house air, nervous giggle’s that they both shared. These two Shakespearean characters filling each other with overdue laughs. “Is it better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all?” – who am I to ask I just write the stories.

Howling in the early morning streets of eternity! looking, well I’m always looking for something and maybe I’ve already found it, yet I still search, for there is still so much that I don’t see. Sounds greedy you say? When it comes to life and soaking up every droplet of her flowing water I don’t believe such a word as greed exist. I’m ready for my feet to take me where my mind already is….paradise. I’d watch a flower grow if it was going to teach me something, maybe patience that thing I can’t seem to possess. I look out my window and see the same things I’ve seen for 23 years, man what a drag…puff, puff, (woman blankly smokes a cigarette, I wonder if she knows she’s in my view as I give the world my ramblin’ sermon of the soul) I’d like to walk the earth one day without any conventional way of living, just digging the eyes of splendid lost souls whom all move wearily throughout their blank existence. We all share that same internal struggle yet most don’t talk about it, but I will. I look at my love, enchanting brown sunflower that she is and sometimes she looks so lost, troubled by the words and perception of man. I pray fervently that one day she’ll take off her mask of uncertainty and let the universe bask in her gracefulness. When will people learn that the most important element of life is happiness, I think it’s a word seldom understood.

I.             He walked along the courtyard of his dreams, thoughts, falling to the ground brushing against his feet; dissolving into the rain soaked earth never to breathe again. He, in anguish called upon the Muse- “Seek her and she will come”- he whispered softly. The cobwebbed images of lost despair sent chills throughout his body making his mind tremble under the starry night; until the sweet siren of serenading song echoed against the wind rippling the inviting water which lay silently underneath the bridge. There she glowed in all her majestic innocence, the Muse of Time.

II.            He gazed towards her in captivating disbelief. Hair, falling gracefully down her back longer than winter nights, eyes which swam inside the moonlight stabbing his every thought. She stood there in naked silence enchanting him with every glimmer of her smile. As his eyes peered deeper he noticed what she held. In her left hand ink and in her right paint. She spoke with the faintest sound and said -“Choose one”- he reached into her left hand and immersed his hand into the depths of her ink and felt the exhilaration of concentrated thought.

III.         He spoke not a word as his mind  was pierced with eternal light.He could not  hear or see anything but the mesmerizing silhouette of his mystical Muse. As she finally let go of his hand she spoke once again and lastly muttered- “Time swallows us all so listen closely to yours”- as he regained his sight all that was left was the trailing vision…The shadow of the Muse.

As I sit here listening to the Jazz of yesterday, Miles blowing blues, I’m thinking of what to do…seems like that’s everyday. My mind still has a cold, my eyes still numb ahhhhh but I’d like to write a long triumphant story about who I was yesterday opposed to who I am today. But would you even listen? March 11, 3:30 in the afternoon still feeling drunk-drunk with love,images, words- (Miles please don’t stop keep speaking to me) Sometimes I feel like I’m being chased and I can’t escape. chased by God, chased by the Devil, chased by words, chased by the blank page. Had a strange dream of my grandfather last week, he’s been dead for a long time now, but oh so real in my head. Maybe that’s where he breathes now, maybe I’m him, living in different skin and telling new stories. Have you ever felt you died before? well, I have. Think everyone should die once a day, to be reborn with new consciousnesses, new images stirring in their minds, for who wants to be the same person forever? not me. 3:45 in the afternoon, sun shining uncontrollably through my windows. Miles, well he’s still blowing his song in my ear, his trumpet so real to me… sounds so human that I could never express it in mere words. but then again, that’s what music is, something you cant quite understand, something that stabs you in the heart but feels so good.