Lisa of Tao Talk asks: In the shadows, did you ever secretly wish you were someone else, either as a child or an adult? My answer? I can’t say that I have but like so many children, I’ve often wondered what it was like to be the big creatures of the earth, including the now extinct dinosaurs. Many of them seem like gentle giants, elephants for example. Others strike terrors, like lions and tigers and bears, oh my! But it’s the fantasy creatures that overtake a child’s imagination, like unicorns and griffins and flying horses and magical birds, like the phoenix. Underwater, it’s the music of the whales which seem to have dominion over most of the vast recesses of the world. They live in a universe of their own, unfettered and majestic.
There’s an ocean of energy in swelling tides dancing in atoms and planets and stars but most of it’s not in the surface above it rides in the universe of the heart’s designs wanting the freedom of the sea’s vast lands where Atlantis lies buried and canyons unfold and gravity means little to eyes that glow.
Something is missing in the world above, something that my mind’s eye sinks below where dreams turn to dust and songs to wails and gates are just openings to walls within walls. So give me the sea and the skin of a whale and tumble me down to the music below.
Under the glare of warehouse light steel-eyed commerce crisscrossing vaulted space above while below we, in well-trammeled lanes, forage with brandished carts loaded, swallow claustrophobic desire stretch Ali Baba eyes to needful things as La-Z-Boys race past iWant-slick bling-gadgetry — only to be stared down by a winged unicorn: unflurried pinkness, nestled wonder in small chubby arms.
Canoop! the sound of your loop-tee-do Enough! the slough of your despondency Wooditch! the whinge of your panicky The meteor’s coming ‘ere election day!
Cannip the conniption fit, buddit the funk Swallow the glut of slubbish bilocracy Gnash, says the prophet Neal deGrasse Tyson, we’ll die in a blaze ‘ere election eve!
O Meteor of space! O Deliverer of grace! You’ll spare us, ‘ere you dare us, with crater Dustiferous, injurious, deleterious bringer Of sweltering doom ‘ere we galood election gloom!
Come the third of November, we’ll never remember Who’s Harris, Who’s Donald, What’s Joe Biden hidin’? We won’t know a thing when the meteor’s oncomin’ O’er helter-election-welter, combustin’ election eve!
Y’all know there’s red, white, blue Violet, purple and cerulean too Jazzberry jam, purple mountains’ majesty Canary, cornflower and fuzzy wuzzy But strike me dumb if ever you see A spectrum as mind-blowing as ZANY Not even a Crayola box can contain The uncanniness like an outrageous grin For when you happen to chance upon it Everything’s a subject for merry wit!
I’m skating it, free-wheeling it Somersaulted skyward by the infinite jest of it That I could be winging it, barrel-rolling Like Icarus to the very summit of it Unburned by it, cascading liberating fall of it Caught in it, unbound through it, Your love.
Maybe it’s just that the camera angle caught it just right, but these viburnum leaves seem to form a perfect cross and mid-center, flowering buds. Can our daily crosses be thus, as roads to the heart of hope realized and yet to be realized? I suppose it’s all in where we place our faith, or rather in whom, the One who bore a cross for us and walks the cross-roads with us.
We’re into week five of SYW’s two-parter, with Share Your World meeting the world of Harry Potter. We’re answering Melanie’s muggle-themed queries alongside those of Roger, this time with The Order of the Phoenix in mind. Check out everyone’s answers and join in.