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The Wolf and the Sparrow in the Garden of Eden
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Like the Mystic Wolf that roams the Earth, that climbs the highest mountain,that stands in the clouds and sings his song to the whole world, he who sings of Nature, of God, and of Life, to all mankind, I was born a wolf, wild and free, with a curiosity that burned endlessly, a creature born free, but I was fated from the very beginning, ill-fated it seemed, all my days were filled with discouragement and I traveled an endless road of confusion, getting more and more lost in the man-made maze that is called progress and the modern-way, all my nights, oh, God, the long, long nights, were filled with misery. My nights seemed to drag on forever and I would wrestle with Nyx, the goddess of night and my unwanted, yet undaunted companion, until the dawn, she always the winner, nightmares haunted me and I was terrified with my discernment, my insight of hell, my understanding of what man really was, I despised life, especially mine for which there was no worth, I came to prefer the comfort of death, (wrap me in your warmth), I sought not immortality and would not live forever, my days were without meaning, my nights turbulent, my life wasted, a mere shell without substance. If the anguish I felt could have been weighed, the misery, the loneliness, the pain, it would doubtless be deeper than any deep, wider than any wide, higher than any high, it was without end, far greater than any man, any mere mortal, could fantom, I saw too much, I did too much, I laughed, I cried, I loved too much, too deep, was scorned . . . I died, I was doomed to death though fated not to die. Such was my destiny, my woeful lot, my world without light, I wandered helpless in the dark, engulfed in this Earth-bound Hell, one not of my making, but one too real and too ever-present, the boney hand of death was always near, death dropped it's soft and warn cloak upon me,still . . . like the Mystic Wolf or the Great White Buffalo, I took heart, I tried to rise, I tried to run and romp and roam, but alas . . . I was chasing the wind, I had maggots in my brain, I'd shaken hands with time, with Kennedy and King, and I fell to the Earth, my body and my spirit broken, and there . . . in my misery and self-pity I lay to die. Like the Honeysuckle that grows among the thorns, like the Wild Rose that one sees among the briars, a light shone . . . and grew in intensity, and you came, you lifted me to your breast and engulfed me in your wings, you gave me sanctuary and you tended my wounds and then you allowed me to taste the untouched fruits of your garden. I was overcome by your love and understanding, I felt the coolness within the heat of your breath as it soothed my fevered brow, and suddenly a calmness I knew, like the first autumn morning or the first fresh day of spring, and I listened in wondrous awe to your sweet voice as you touched my lips joining your tongue with mine, joining your body with mine, joining your soul with mine, and you said, Be as peace, my wild and free Wolf,and you were not deterred by the differences in us, you so petite, my greatness of size, you so gentle and me so rough, it did not matter, you took my love until it tore you apart and then you took more and you gave back with the same intensity. My love became a blazing fire, rising from my loins, and at the same time from my troubled soul, a fire that quickly turned into an inferno, a fire that burned nightly and burned eternally, a fire without end that even the greatest of rivers or oceans could not have altered it in the slightest . . .and still . . . even in love and laughter, there may still be an anguish unwanted, and even joy as great as the one I knew may end in grief and sorrow, I had once more become free and wild and ready to roam with the wind, but, you too, were wild and free, you were a wild bird and at first faintly, then increasingly louder came the call of the wild, the call of the wind, and . . . you could not stay. Too often in my life love had been just a shadow of reality and so once again it seemed to be, my hungry heart had once more taken me to the mountain top, up into the clouds, then without hesitation caused me to leave the mountain top and be dashed upon the ground, and I loved you and you loved me, but it mattered not, for though you felt sorrow and sadness in leaving, even regret and some guilt, for you knew what your touch had done for me, to me, you had to leave, and you knew that even a heart as cold as mine had become, a heart of stone, could come alive and breath and beat and glow and then ultimately bleed, but you could not stay, you too were born to be wild, to be free, you felt the call, you yearned to go, to see, to taste, to experience, and . . . I did with great reluctance urge you to go, to be free and soar, with heavy heart that you did not see, I cheered you on, to spread your wings, to fly high, to soar, to dream . . . to laugh . . . to love . . .so . . . fly away my wind and free bird, my sparrow with the heart of an Eagle, yes, fly high, catch the wind if you can, cut the rays of the sun, and maybe someday you can find a garden, an Eden and when you do, perhaps a new love, go my love, my life, and discover, know what it is to be alive . . . And so now you are gone, but it was not for nought that I knew and loved you, for my broken body is healing, I will mend, and though days without light are still my only companions, perhaps with rest, a little sleep, without the nightmares each time, sleep that will be peaceful and sound, I pray that they will continue to grow and the darkness will leave and perhaps . . .maybe not with the next, but with one soon, perhaps with one dawn . . . I will rise to a shining sun and like the true Wolf, the Wolf of old, like once I was, I will run free and wild, mayhaps I will be one with Nature and Life and God once more, mayhaps . . . and as you may not know the pain you have caused and the pain you drove out, you know not even of the life you may have saved, the life you have surely saved, thanks to your unselfish love, the love of a free and wild bird, I will survive!. . . I will survive . . . The Wolf and the Sparrow in the Garden of Eden written by Charles S. Holley September 1981
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Been There, Done That
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Been there, Done that, Flesh and Blood, Hair and Bone, Smoke and Mirrors, Illusions of Reality, The Curse of the External, Going down a Dark Highway, Travelin' much too fast, Been there, Done that, Coke, the Real Thing? Rap makes one Impotent? Whence cometh the Iceman? Been there, Done that, Pirate, Legionnaire, Porno Movie Prodigy, Hot and Cold Wars, The Whole Spectrum, of People, of Emotions, of Experiences, Going where no man has been before, Been there, Done that, Give me a break! Mailer, Hemingway? I think not, I'll take Twain, Joyce, even Fitzgerald, cause I know better, Just because some wrote, just because it was accepted by fools, nope, not Faulkner, I won't go that route anymore, but yes, Asimov and Mitchner, Long and Dusty Roads, Cool, Clear Water, Eau de Marmaduke, Grable, the Beautiful Blonde from Bashful Bend, or Lakewood, Florida, Been there, Done that, Going down slowly, Going down twice, Kill or be Killed, Fast or Eat the Rat, Ex-RAT from the NSA, Oh, too Mortal, too Human, Been there, Done that,... Been there, and Done that.
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If adultery is the application of democracy to love as H.L. Mencken asserted, I wonder what it was called when I made love to Nikki, lovely Russian sooka working for the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti. Since I eschew obfuscation, I will state that she was fully committed to her husband and country, but I was quite irresistible at the time. The manda was almost my downfall, but then I probably deserved it. I was initiating the wife of my Russian counterpart, and my friend of many years, into the world of "capitalistic perversion and decadence". Before he fired the last shot, the killing shot as it were, to be, or not to be, but he didn't know it, he admonished me "ne podmakhivai", meaning that I had made my bed and was thus not justified in any complaints I had about sleeping in it. I didn't die, of course, and oddly enough, neither did my friend, although I had the chance to revenge myself on him, for I felt that it was Nikki who was to blame. She died, not prettily or with dignity, but then she was the enemy, wasn't she? Godless communist? Not all are, but in this case, yes, she was both and proud of it. So sad. Patriotism can be so scary. If I am to choose, I opt for friendship. 