harrisbeachsunset

harrisbeachsunset,
originally uploaded by sopotter.

the photo that along with our hearts inspired the words of our love to flow forth from me...

Love Dedication 12-21-04

At any given moment one of us is the rock and one of us is the water, at that same instant we may be the firmament and fire, the form, image or reflection, limning or shadow; yet evermore we care little for these distinctions as we know that that is what we are in that moment as surely as we know ourselves and anything we encounter.

I love you so much, Lady Lisé Oriam!

Sir O’

Costa Rican Thick Air Prose

Volcanoes afar, mouths ajar
Cribbage champions disputed
But love overcomes reputed
As a tour guide rivalry mars
What was suspect to fulfilled retrospect
While throughout we said, it was lovely love…

So lovely, it cannot even be adequately described
Although we are certainly wont to try
‘Neath the nearly fullest of moons
With embers simmering and game cries soccering
Humidity giving way
To the most pleasant of nighttime skies

Recall greenery of riverboat cruises
Blues, whites, tans and grays snaking through brown
Occasional reds and blacks punctuate soundless sounds
Whispers rush in torrents of leaves, twigs, branches, moss,
Bromeliads, anhingas, egrets and jesus christ lizards…
All wrapping the sideways brown of another Costa Rican river

And in spite of and notwithstanding the sights and sounds of the river
There is a feeling of so many disparate and yet resonant themes
That almost defy description
But this is what I am most taken by
The river is ever changing and yet constant
As is my love ever expanding and yet fundamentally unchanged

I feel it is necessary to explain something of helixical fractality at this point…

The following example may prove very elucidating:
Waves form certain patterns as reflections, particularly at night
And one can see the pattern shifts in regular (or so it seems) northeasterly,
And northwesterly undulations radiating outwards,
And in correspondingly southeastern and southwestern patterns upon
The refection of the reflection cast upon the wall
From the original pattern of waves and light
That move freely exactly horizontally
The problem is that others mistake the reflections of the horizontal
As they appear as vertical reflections of something as being the reality

This is the communication problem culturally that arises daily…

Mistaking the map for the territory
And yet we travel here irrespective of that pitfall
Embracing the manner in which it will reveal its tendency
Yet again and again
And we breath in the fullness of a night moon that is here and then gone
Amidst clouds and weather that move faster than the blink of any eye

Still, I spoke even not of the other reflections from underneath the surface
And the woman who is life has found a way to see past it
Into a space that winds its way in-between all
To make anything of all of us
Sometimes of which we know not
Weather fogs in monuments to geography
Faint glows of smokers in the distance make no difference
Whether they be on top or somewhere below
What, other than the Kapok Tree, has been clear
Is that mythology to these we travel among is passé…

Nay not too too in the distant past—never too distantly passed
To re-member it in wafts of dreams, wiffs and outbreaths
The night is dark now for this moment
And the crickets sound their cries for connection
And here I sit in masked moonlight forever connected and writing to and with my baby
An irreverent and sacred soccer team of our own now and forever more

Plops form a chorus of invitation gurgling
Clouds rapidly cover the moon
Poolside tranquility breaks by clandestine phone calls
As the night callers outweigh boring typing
For what can we type that photos of iguanas cannot prove?
The soccer team fades into obscurity
Yet the Hispanic dialogue continues…

And the particular sweetness
Of this night’s air thickens
In this thickening
And the quickening of this night’s beckonings
Of this night’s happenings
Of this night’s call…

Recalling things…
Tortuguero
Fruitful fruitless search for turtles hatching
Tree frogs hide from bright flashlights
And no flash leads to no photos of them
White ginger and white orchids flavor night and day scents
Birds call to challenge sounds ever heard and made
Roaches hide in bathroom and glide under beds
To find toilet rhapsodies and swirls of goodbye
Yet black hawks perching here and there
Remind us of baby turtle remains
While crab claws clutching provide reality in sadness full

And I am one
We are two
As our Third
Blends into the sultry of the night…

We Internally Reveal

If I answer the query, Who am I?
I am is the ultimate reply…
Regardless of qualities…
No matter the poesis or the eros…
Still engaging in the Third from far afar,
I never feel removed from the abiding love of my life—Lisé
And, in the midst of our rhizomatic lives, the nurturance of love feeds
We, is the subtle name for our manifested interaction,
Which continues to thrive under the current in the background
Pondering the mysteries of love incites a cosmotic reaction;
Stars, moon and sun come mythically vivacious
Stages, from nigredo and albedo to rubedo show unions we breathe
Trees peel back layers in a momentous celebration of lived history—opening, closing four times three
Spells of enchantment impart worlds we rarely see

Dante whistling on the wind in Terza Rimas profound
We heed spirit’s call to descend and ascend in helixical vibrancy
Momentarily you move with rhythmic consonance there and here when I am neither
Yet I feel you and you feel me
Ah, transcendent magnificence that is our love…
We knew semblances of this love in temporality that surpass the imaginary
Shall I tell you a toll of the bell that rings silently,
You might wonder what clanger made it so, if you knew not it was a powdery soft wing
But you once blew that monarch to its destiny and so such a notion proves incongruous


When embarking on a new path one does not question the where and the how or the what, and definitely not the why…
Yet, we both felt something that denied conventions
That altered destinations
That complicated salutations
That brought us to exultations
Now I ask, is this righteous?
Righteous in a sense of spiritual embodiment, in form and physicality
In mind and intent
In spirit and soul
Have we lost a part of a whole only to make more of a whole of it all?
Yes!
In bridges falling, skies coloring stars white and suns painting pinks about
We lose no sight over the inner moving through seven times an infinitude of stages
A tree speaks, it sings, the moss silences the gray fog stills
A drop drips to dewy moisture
In the folds of an entire universe within
Without, heralds announce triumph of a Third
In that I succor respites long past for they know nothing of now
Wings fluttering in yellow and white
Fluffy lace and splashy lion
Seeds in a poppy field
Remembering its sempervirens passed…
Odes I have written, and this is not one, unless we consider what has past
In that case, I ode it all, as I owe it all to an eye like Horus
A feather that weighs right
And just peace of solitude amidst love and happiness that knows no bounds
Fly
Fly like the six-foot Raven’s wings amidst tallest trees in the world….
That we ride among
And thrive within

The Beauty with which you speak, my Love, overwhelms me
Silences me with tears, not of joy or of sorrow
Of what I cannot even speak
You’d think that, next to the giants that I have lived and that I now live
That I ‘d be used to you… or accepting of what comes through you
But your expression never ceases to amaze me and the pain that it causes me is so sweet
Yes, who would have expected? Who would have known? Who could have told?
Except as is told in the ancient texts
There in the akashic records does it tell of our soul journey leading us to this moment in time
That the veil was lifted in a split in the cosmic fabric to reveal to each of us our destiny
Is perhaps and unfortunately for some not as unique as the manner in which we acted
Fully and completely and immediately upon it
And so, in so short a period of linear time
Here we are – writing in the library – the Library – of Sequoia de O’
of our Love, our Third, our alchemy
The giant sempervirens, the coastal bluffs, the caterpillars, water crystals and butterflies,
Orion, Ursula Major and Minor
As you write of Artemis and I of triggering events
And we laugh at their connections in the morning
As you cup my breasts and belly and I your thighs and…
And rest my head in the arc of your chest while I listen to you breathe your love into me

Can I shelter the moss that grows fragiley on paths’ edges
To give it better purchase so that it might green something gray or brown or black?
Can I take green and make it blue so that the sky has a common thread of decency
After it enters my soul, to commingle with what has been named the green chlorophyllic flow
From leaf all the way to root tendril?
Can I tend the diverse sages growing and surrounding we
So that they too echo wisdom in tune with heartthrobs we push unknowing?
Can I take red and make its oxygenated splash my heart for the world to purely ingest?
Can I open to skies splitting my consciousness and blowing through my shadows, in order that the light and the dark integrate to see common ground?
Can I take blue and make it see itself in a stroke of chance purgatory?
Can I welter ordered rays that strike dewdrops with arrays of brilliance and topple crystal mounds over molehills in Ides long forgotten?
Can I take yellow gold into more than Yukonic recall, more than iconic repast, more than any box it has escaped into freedom similar to that of amor’s escapades on mountains lost?
Can I find humility and nurturance needed for the royalty enveloping me, for the death by drowning already incurred, as we swim out of that death into regality?
Can I take purple and make it an opportunity worthy of its storied past, an opportunity that shall not lose one askance at the royal decorum, and instead shall be lost in rapport?
Can I follow the passion and derangement in striking flames of lost imaginings and see it has altered its path to seek out mine own?
Can I take orange and place it nimbly next to the turquoise caftan worn by my love?
And, if I seek white and black only to discover their grayness, finding plenty without either,
Shall I then transfigure my soul to be only that white and black seen before a gray veil illuminated more?
And, can I then take that white, black, and gray and discover portals unfound, undiscovered within the moss of hirsute-not-less astute in the firmament soaked in beams coating palaces of mottled flawless amethyst?
Here, as jury and judge, I offer only that of the warranted reflections of the master whom I love more than my own life, my wife:

Yes and so be it!
For, I used to see it as all black or white all dark or light, all wrong or all right
Now I see it as shades of grey, distinctions, slowly, surely fading away…

Here, in Sequoia de O’ distinctions are overcome as a horrible lack of muddiness might threaten it all, undergirding something unintended so that it might fester, instead clarity shows through like the light of warm colors leading to blues and eventually to purple, and in this happenstance following of the chakric outlines, we find grace has found us and we simply laugh…