The idea of a composite man

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

EACH day, the first thing I do is to look at the sky, and look at the moon, and it was not there at dawn. It is there of course, only I did not see it, because the clouds chose to be seen instead. They were dark, of varying shades of darkness, sometimes moving, a movement so little it is almost negligible to most eyes. The existence of the moon was totally hidden, except for that glimmer of soft light from behind, slowly fading, blending with the darkness, until the darkness itself began to fade into a grayish, purple sky.

I got down to watch this slow change from my garden, glimpsing the transition in between the electric wires and the telephone lines. I have this unexplainable desire to be up in the sky, to be with the mist, and the gasses that turn its colors into magic. I imagine myself driven by a whim, and change the colors to hues I can see in my mind. They are alive. Their energies vibrate like heartbeats, and each heartbeat transforms itself into parts of you, and I could almost see you beginning to breathe life.

But of course, you are only real to me, as much as reality allows. You are a composite of a whim, taken from the qualities of various beings and situations that I desire. Your existence is not, and will never be found in one person, given the complexity and the limitations of human capacities, and the natural flow of energies that interplay with the web of life.

But who knows? The moon exists, even if it is hidden by dark clouds.

 

The composite man

I swish the wand to compose

the letters of your name
but the alphabets became runes
unintelligible to the stars

 

light red rune, bright red rune

dark blue rune, dark green rune

runes whose colors remain unknown

the colors of Odin’s rune

 

I flew with the wind to the desert

among sand dunes hosting grasses

giving life to gazelles, foxes, cats, lizards

creatures of the desert moon

 

there, I picked sand grains,

moon dust, mist,

petals of a tiny wild flower

together, in my palms,

I blew a breath: Be! Become!

and then, before my eyes,

an exhausted angel, riding a gasping horse

bearing jumbled letters,

clues to a composite name:

G R I M Y B A T H Z O N E U L

Share your Comments or Reactions

comments

Powered by Facebook Comments