Words left borrowed

 heavy on the heart

Actions defaulting

 stillborn and dark

 

Pawning the foundling

orphan on loan

Love unbequested

— dying alone

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2024)

                                                       Libby’s Retreat

                                                       January, 2056

It was January 2056, and Rays membership to Libby’s Health & Romance Retreat was about to run out in just two more weeks.  Ray had been a member now for three years but lately had started to feel very empty every time he left Libby’s.  It was a feeling that he couldn’t quite explain and one that he had never felt before.

Libby’s was a franchised location of the large ‘Cymax Personal Health’ system.  It had been on the corner of Snyder avenue and 14^th street for the past seven years.  Since the fatal STD Porex had been discovered over twenty years ago, free and organic sex was almost entirely a relic of the past.  Now almost all singles got their sexual gratification from spa’s and clubs like Libby’s. They found in the androids and simulators there something that was now far too dangerous to find with someone else.

Porex was both dangerous and deadly for two reasons.  There was no early detection, or screening, to see if you were infected until the disease was already at stage #3, and there was no cure or treatment once you were there.  At that point death came early — and with much pain attached.

Aids had been cured over twenty years ago, and those same scientists and laboratories were now working on a cure for Porex.  Unlike Aids, which started with the HIV virus, Porex had no early warning signs.  It surfaced almost overnight and killed 100% of its victims within ninety days.

Free sex among humans was still being practiced by the adventuresome few, but it was literally a life or death enterprise. Neither party could know for sure if their partner was disease free or not.  Many times, if not most, the infected party never found out until it was too late.

The only fail-safe method was sex between two virgins, and then only between those two.  Many prominent families were using sexual consulting firms to determine if their prospective daughters qualified, but there was still no concrete way of telling if their male suitors had been celibate or not. Many young women had paid the ultimate price for believing what their ‘hormone raging’ boyfriends had said in a moment of passion.  In more cases than not, these men didn’t even know they had been infected — the signs always showing up too late.

Personal stimulation devices had been available for home use for many years but were boring in their one-dimensional ability to give pleasure.  Clubs like Libby’s had over 55 different devices that could take you to the promise-land and all for the cost of a car payment every month.

Ray’s favorite device at Libby’s was Amanda.  Amanda was a life sized, full featured, android, and the one Ray used was sculpted to look and feel exactly like the supermodel Alexis Andrea.  In the dark, and under blind test studies, over 80% of the males tested could not tell the difference between Amanda and the real thing.  Many, literally fell in love (lust) during their first encounter.

Amanda never said no, never had a headache, and was always available.  She was 5’7’’ tall and came in all races and nationalities. She was the most expensive ‘release’ mechanism at the club so appointments were always necessary to book a session with her.  Amanda was busy twenty-four hours a day and could actually be booked for in-home use for twice the hourly rate.

Ray had recently met someone he liked at the Coffee and Cake Emporium downtown. Her name was Elizabeth, and Ray thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.  Ray asked Elizabeth to play Cybernets one night, which was the virtual tennis rage that was sweeping the country.  Elizabeth said yes, and they walked together from the C & C Emporium to the Cybernets Room at Game-Central.  They had a great time together and scheduled a second date to play again.

Ray wondered what ‘real sex’ with Elizabeth would be like.  He was now having trouble going back to Libby’s, and his last two sessions with Amanda had been awkward and vacuous.  He kept seeing Elizabeth’s face on the head of the android and wondered what his grandfather would think if he could see him now.

                Some Things Are Worth Dying For, Grandpa Had Often Said

Ray’s wrist implant went off one Tuesday afternoon. It was showing a ‘virtual’ of Elizabeth in her new bathing suit and sitting around the pool in her downtown modular building. Ray wondered why she had sent this to him. Could she be thinking the same things as me, he asked himself? For the rest of that day, Ray could neither work nor eat.  He was now obsessed with both the fantasy and the real possibility of having something that before seemed so forbidden. Elizabeth was now dominating not only his waking, but his sleeping thoughts too.

At 8 O’clock that evening, Ray video encrypted Elizabeth.  Video Encryption was as close to the real thing as technology had developed — creating a full scale and life-sized hologram of the two parties in three-dimensional form.  Elizabeth looked amazing!

                                              Ray Was Falling In Love

Elizabeth told Ray that her office was shutting down for two weeks for cyber-regeneration and that she was thinking of going somewhere REAL.  The last two ‘virtual’ vacations she had been on had left her feeling empty and alone.  ‘Trans-Virtual Vacations’ was the largest company in this field. They allowed the visitor to experience any place on earth while in a dream-sleep state of consciousness.  They even had vacations to over 1500 fantasy locations, and all were available without ever leaving home.

Elizabeth said: ‘How about the Grand Canyon?’ Ray couldn’t believe his own ears. She was actually asking him if he would like to go along.  She then said that by booking a two-seater shuttle they could be there in less than an hour. They could still see the sun come up over the south rim tomorrow morning if they packed, and got to the sky-transport terminal, within the hour.

There was only one answer and Ray quickly said YES. Since he was already home, he packed in under five minutes, called the Inner-city Air Transport and was at the ‘Trans Shuttle Terminal’

in less than forty minutes.  Elizabeth was already there.  She was dressed in a blue taffeta shirt and slacks, and Ray thought he could see right through them as she moved through the waning light.

Elizabeth said she had booked a ‘Northern Star’ direct two passenger and was that all right with him?  Ray said: “Only if you drive.” These smaller two passenger direct shuttles were computer driven, but passenger monitored and controlled, with full override being available in case of emergency. Both Elizabeth and Ray had gone to civilian ‘flight’ school for certification and were both more than capable of getting to the ‘Canyon’ and back.

As they took off in a vertical lift, Ray asked Elizabeth where she would like to stay.  She said the ‘Old Lodge’ still had 7 rooms and they were holding two on the second floor overlooking the South Rim for them. Two ? Ray couldn’t help but wonder, as he heard himself repeating her words to him again.  As they flew over the eastern rim they slowed and dropped in elevation.  The Canyon never failed to inspire, no matter what technology its pilgrims took to arrive.  The panorama was breathtaking as they descended into Desert View.  The lodge was visible in the distance, and Elizabeth suggested after docking that they walk the final two miles.

The Lodge stood timeless and defiant against what the modern world had now become.  It had remained identical to its 19^th Century design and harkened the visitor back to a time when life was more balanced and when most things were real.  Modern life had tried to remove all of the trials and challenges of previous generations while forgetting that good and bad would always be two dependent halves of the same whole.

Elizabeth and Ray entered through the large double front doors and walked across the immense lobby to the front desk.  Elizabeth gave the clerk their Transit I.D.’s and said she had booked two rooms earlier in the day.  The clerk said: “The two adjoining rooms that look out on the South Rim, right miss?” Elizabeth said yes, and then looked toward Ray and wryly smiled.

As a throwback to an earlier time, a live bellhop came and carried their two small bags upstairs to the second floor.  The view from Ray’s corner room was spectacular. Looking out the large canyon facing window, he realized that Elizabeth had taken the lesser room for herself.  As Ray was becoming transfixed, watching the remaining light emptying out of the canyon, he heard a knock on his door.  It was not coming from the outside hall but from the interior door that connected to the adjoining room — Elizabeth’s room!

Ray walked toward the door with a mixture of trepidation and delight. As he opened it, there in front of him was the most heavenly sight he had ever seen.  Elizabeth was standing before him and the taffeta was now gone. She was standing beneath the doorway that connected her room to his,

                              And She Was Standing In The Doorway Naked

Ray took a deep breath as he attempted to speak.  Elizabeth slowly shook her head and stepped toward him as she put her right index finger to his lips. Not now she said, as she wrapped her arms around him.  I’m a virgin Ray, so you have nothing to worry about.  I love you and can no longer bear the thought of never feeling you inside me. 

As Ray carried Elizabeth to his bed, he realized for the first time that life was ultimately good. What had been troubling him for all those years had only been a warning and a preparation for what was to come.  Ray thought to himself about love, real love, and the chance that Elizabeth had been willing to take.  He then smiled to himself, knowing that the inner voice that had been speaking to him for all those years had been telling the truth …

                                                  For Ray Was A Virgin Too

In two more weeks, Rays membership card to Libby’s would expire never to be reactivated.  The sterile and impersonal pleasure industry had been beaten by the timeless power of human love.

Cathedral Mosque

or Synagogue

their masquerade

the same

Preaching what

they don’t believe

the Good Lord

to profane

 

Christians Jews

and Muslims share

their hate for

other faiths

Self-righteous ire

scriptures burn

as blood flows

through the gate

 

Colleges and

social networks

homes where they

blaspheme

Younger hearts

and narrow minds

starving

to believe

 

The clock ticks down

as options die

in zero sum

degrees

The vilest thing

to haunt the earth

breeds death

— with each decree

 

(Dreamsleep: April, 2024)

        Johnny stood in the dark alone.  High above everything

       he would now leave behind, he took that last step — the one

       that would define him forever and reshape in an instant who          

       he would then become.

Johnny was a diver.  His father had first thrown him into the pool when he was three years old. A loud clap and enormous splash announced his second baptism.  Instantaneously, in the dark wet silence, he sank beneath all that he had previously known, and in the strange umbilical fear that now surrounded him ­— he knew that this was for him.

Throughout his childhood, Johnny then spent much of his life ‘at the pool.’  First, at the public swim club at the corner of his street in the summers, and then later at the downtown ‘Y.’ Johnny competed on all the youth league teams as both a swimmer and a diver from ages 5-12.

It was being a diver though that would shape Johnny’s future. When he finally got to middle-school, he was old enough to try out for the school team and made the team on his first try as a diver. From that time on, everything in Johnny’s life revolved around his time at the pool. He was always the one to try everything ‘first’, no matter how difficult, and the team always looked to him to come through in the end when the score was close. To do that, Johnny not only needed to dive well, but he needed to pick dives that came with a high degree of difficulty.

He was proficient at all three diving events, the one-meter and three-meter springboards, and then his favorite, the ten-meter- high platform. On the high platform, Johnny was more than just proficient. It was when he was towering high above the water, with his fans watching from below, that he truly excelled.

His specialty dive, and the one that won most competitions, was an inward two and a half from the ten-meter platform in pike position. Pike position, popularly called jack knife, was when your upper body was bent straight-forward and almost touching your legs.  This dive was the clincher that won consistently, often scoring high enough to allow his team to win too.  It was his favorite dive, and also the one that almost ended his life one fated afternoon almost a year before.

           His life Had Almost Ended Thirty Feet Above The Water

That afternoon, and from the back of the platform, Johnny set in motion a routine that he had done thousands of times before. He walked to the platform’s edge, turned around, and set himself with only his toes and the balls of his feet on the concrete surface. He then bent his knees and threw both of his arms upward trying to launch himself toward the lights in the ceiling high above the pool.  This time though, something was different.

                          And Something Was Terribly Wrong

Johnny’s right foot slipped as he jumped causing his body to become unbalanced.  The strength and propulsion he needed from that leg was now gone, and he should have aborted the dive and just fell to the water below.  He didn’t. Driven by habit, instinct, and force of will, Johnny continued to try and complete the dive. He rotated forward in spite of his flawed take off while hoping he had enough height to be able to clear the platform on the way down.

                                               He Didn’t!

Johnny doesn’t know what happened next. All two hundred and fifty spectators below were awestruck and deadly silent as they sat and watched his failed takeoff from the platform so high above them.  Johnny woke up four days later in Memorial Hospital with his head totally wrapped in gauze and both legs braced in traction from the bottom of his hospital bed. As he stared hard at the ceiling above, he struggled to remember what had happened. He also had no clear idea as to who he was. This blank spot in his memory would continue to dominate his thoughts and bother him even more as the days rolled on.

Johnny had hit the platform hard, first with the back of his head rendering him instantaneously unconscious and then with the small of his back as he rotated forward and slammed into the front of the platform’s edge. This caused him to momentarily hang there, thirty feet above the pool, before rolling off the front of the platform and falling straight down into the thirty-foot deep water below.  His seemingly lifeless body appeared to bounce off the surface before it continued to slowly sink toward the light at the very bottom of the pool.

Luckily, Johnny’s coach and his brother Tom were lightning quick in their reactions, getting to him before he was able to submerge more than five or six feet.  The concussion from the dive, and medically induced coma to reduce the swelling, kept Johnny unconscious for four days.  When he finally did wake up, all he knew was that his head hurt. It hurt with a pain he had never felt before, and the room that he now found himself in looked very strange.

His nurse told him that hitting his head and losing consciousness may have contributed to saving his life. His relaxed body, when hitting the platform and then the water, was much less prone to injury in this state than if tense and contracted.

For six months Johnny stared up at that same ceiling. The memory of what had happened, or specifically lack of memory, haunted his waking and sleeping hours.  No matter what the hospital staff or his family did to try and distract him, he couldn’t help thinking about that dive.

               He Couldn’t Visualize It, But It Was Always There

Over and over, he tried to relive it in his memory, or what little memory he had left. The doctors told him that memory loss was normal with these types of injuries, and he would probably recall what had happened as time went on. His only previous injury had occurred when he scraped his elbow on the front of the one-meter springboard, reaching back while performing a half-gainer in layout position.  He asked his coach why, why had this happened after all the times before?  Did I not do everything the way I had been coached, and the way I was taught, he asked?

His coach said “Yes, you did, but accidents can and do happen, especially on the high platform, and even more so when your back is to the pool and your dive is executed so close to the concrete surface.” Johnny thought about the coach’s choice of the word execute, and how close he had really come.

                               So Close To It All Being Over

After six months in the hospital Johnny was finally sent home. He left on a ‘walker,’ but the doctors assured him that after three more months, the most he would need to get around with would be a cane.  Johnny had other plans.  He would have a two-week rest while he acclimated himself to being home, and then his outpatient therapy would begin. Johnny’s biggest struggle would not be his still ailing body but the lack of any clear memory. It continued to weigh heavier inside of him than any real memory could.

Johnny’s parents had a gala celebration waiting at their house when the ambulance arrived home.  All of Johnny’s family and friends were there, but the one he was most anxious to see was his dog Revo. He had been separated from him for over six months, and the memory of Revo was one of the few things that Johnny could recall.

Revo was a Portuguese Water Dog and got his name from shortening the word revolution. Revolutions were what Johnny was always working on as his dives got progressively more and more difficult. His coach was always including more revolutions to his dives as his talent and proficiency developed.  Revo seemed to know by instinct Johnny’s state of mind and would not leave his side for the next three months.

Johnny looked up on the family room wall and stared at all the medals, trophies, and ribbons that filled the space over the fireplace from end to end.  He didn’t remember winning any of them, although he knew that he did.  How can you know something with conviction and still not remember doing it he wondered?

He thought most about the one medal that was not up on that wall. Missing, was the one from that meet six months ago, the one that almost took his life and the one that would continue to haunt him until he could stop asking himself, why! On that fateful day, in spite of his failed dive, the team had still accumulated enough points to win.

Five days before the end of the third month that Johnny was home, he was again walking on his own.  It had been almost nine months since his accident, and he could once again leave the house and resume an almost normal life.  Except to him, normal had always meant a life centered around diving and his time suspended high above the water.

Johnny walked and he walked, until he could walk as far as the township pool —the one he knew he had been in many times before, and the one that looked back at him now from across the street and seemed to smile.  Was it a smile he saw or laughter that he thought he heard?  He wasn’t sure, but he was sure he didn’t like it, any of it, and somehow, he had to make it stop. Very isolated flashes had started to return to his memory about his last dive, but every time he focused on them, just as quickly as they came, they were then gone.

Part of Johnny’s ongoing (post hospital) therapy involved the pool.  He first started swimming by trying to complete one lap and then increased his distance by one lap a day.  After a month of swimming Johnny thought he was back to normal.  He did everything a normal kid did at the pool, with one exception…

Over a month had passed at the pool and there was still one thing Johnny had not looked at or faced up to. He had still not looked up at the thirty-foot high platform that extended out and over the far (and deep) end of the pool.  He would avert his eyes as he walked by it and always breath out of the side of his mouth that faced away from the platform as he swam his laps.

                   There Was One Thing He Still Could Not Do

It was Johnny’s senior year in high school, and his mother and brother had been bringing work home since he had gotten out of the hospital so he wouldn’t fall too far behind.  One day before Johnny went back to school, his brother Tom had brought his lessons home as usual. It wasn’t the amount of work in the stack of books his brother carried that got Johnny’s attention, but the brochure stuck between two of the lesson plans that stopped him cold.

The brochure announced that in two more months that same swim meet would be happening again. It was actually on the same date as last year’s meet, and his name had inadvertently been added to the list of contestants. All that was needed now was his signed confirmation. This was Johnny’s senior year and his last year eligible to compete for the city medal, the one most coveted by all high school boys before they moved on to college or adult competition.

For the longest time, Johnny stared at the brochure until it seemed to burn right into his hands.  He knew in his heart that until he got past this, nothing else in his life would matter. He walked to where Revo was sitting patiently and looked deeply into his best friend’s eyes. He then sat holding him for what seemed like an eternity before he got up and walked back into the kitchen. Johnny then picked up the phone and called his old coach.

Coach Brackett said, “I think it’s too early, but I’ll let you know when you’re ready. I’ve been watching you swim, and no-one ever expected you to come back this soon.”  Johnny said: “This is my last chance, Coach.  In September, I’m off to college. I don’t want what happened last year to follow me there or to have the failure of that day be the last thing that anyone remembers who watched me dive. Mostly though, I have to complete that dive for me.”

                       He Had To Do That Dive For Himself

Johnny’s memory had also started to come back, but his recollection of that dive, and last year’s meet, were still fuzzy inside his head. “It’s your choice alone Johnny, Coach Brackett said, because at eighteen I can’t stop you. But what did your parents say when you discussed it with them?”  “I’ve told no-one else but you coach, and I’d like to keep it that way for now please.”

After hanging up the phone, Johnny walked deliberately to the mailbox.  His future and redemption were now enclosed within the envelope in his hand. His memory might still be spotty, but the determination inside his heart was never more resolute. He wondered why he felt so strongly about doing something that he still had no clear memory of …

Johnny’s strength and body weight were now almost back to where they were before the accident. He was able to sit upright in a chair for long periods, and it was decided that the time had come for him to return to school. His time at the pool swimming laps had worked wonders, and everyone was glad to see him back. They encouraged Johnny with his rehab as he left for the pool each day, but no one expected him to ever compete again.

If the faded memory of that day almost a year ago had plagued Johnny’s psyche, the anticipation of doing it again was now ten times stronger than before the accident. He would go to sleep at night praying for his amnesia to remain and keep the memory of that afternoon at bay for at least two more months.  As the meet got closer and closer, word started to leak out.  Well-intentioned family and friends started calling Johnny’s folks, concerned about his safety and welfare.

The tension at home became almost as bad as the trauma of what had previously happened.  There seemed to be no place for Johnny to escape, least of all inside his own mind.  He started spending more and more time alone. Through all of this, he remained respectful but refused over and over again to back off and withdraw when his parents asked.

Johnny thought about the one-meter, the three-meter, and then it would happen again.  He could see himself walking to the platform ladder, right before his mind would go blank.  Would he slip again on something that for years he had always stepped through, or would he climb the long ladder to the top and only have to turn around, and in his fear and humiliation, climb back down? He thought he knew the answer, but just thinking it was not enough. He had to make at least one more dive.

Johnny’s coach told him that he could do any dive he liked as long as it was facing forward off the platform.  That way he would be almost assured that if it wasn’t a high scoring dive at least it would provide a safe pathway to the water. The coach knew what Johnny might be thinking, and he wanted to take the pressure off by making his only choices perfectly clear.

Johnny listened.  He liked Coach Brackett very much and didn’t want to disappoint him, but he knew a forward entry dive just wouldn’t cut it.  That’s not the way you enter the water from an inward two and a half.  That dive had been his signature dive, and only by making it his dive again would he achieve the peace he so desperately needed. It would then release the freedom inside of him, liberating him from always looking back, and allow him to finally move on.

He practiced the dive over and over in his mind until he thought his head would explode.  Every time his memory would go blank just as he jumped up and back, after pushing off from the platform, and always before starting his rotation forward. He couldn’t actually practice the dive because someone was always watching. Many nights he thought about sneaking into the pool and getting it all over with but never did.  He wanted this dive to be in front of the same people who were there to watch a year ago. What seemed only twelve months ago to them felt like a lifetime to him now.  He continued to visualize both the dive and the future it foretold.

He wondered to himself; why is the thing that used to seem the easiest now the hardest? He wondered until he could wonder no more.  No answers would come, and the hardest part was still out in front of him.  Would he be able to climb those rungs to an uncertain future— one that called out his name with a snicker in its voice?  He knew the answer was in only one place and in only one performance.  He knew things now that he never wanted to know again. He trained incessantly on the two springboards for the next seven weeks while doing only front entry dives from the ten-meter height.

The day of the meet came, and his parents were livid. Both had been hoping and believing all along that he would finally step down and their wishes would be obeyed.  With a kiss to his mother and a look in his father’s direction, who was now looking away and would not say either goodbye or good luck — Johnny walked out the door.

All was quiet as Johnny entered the pool through the southside door.  His coach was at the judge’s table, and all looked normal.  Johnny changed quickly in the locker room and started his warmup.  He had a series of three dives he would perform today, but he would only practice the first two.

After the one and two-meter springboard competitions, Johnny was tied for first place.  There would be a twenty-minute intermission before the high platform competition would begin, and Johnny used this time to sit in the locker room’s whirlpool and gather his thoughts.  It seemed like a really fast twenty minutes when he heard his name come over the pool’s public address system to report immediately outside.

When he got there, he saw a great commotion and at least fifteen people standing around the judge’s table.  He saw his coach in the middle arguing vehemently with the head judge. When Johnny approached the table, his coach told him: “They’re not going to let you dive from the high platform. They said it has something to do with insurance and your being hurt just a year ago. In their minds, the springboards were one thing, but the high platform is something entirely different.”

“More arguing won’t do any good” the coach said, “I’ve tried every tactic I know.  You’ve had a good meet Johnny, and everyone knows you tried.” With that, Johnny went back to the locker room. He felt like his entire life had been pulled out from under him. He went into one of the stalls and closed the door behind him, sat down with his arms folded over his head, and cried.

All time seemed to drift away until Johnny heard a door slam and a loud bang as if all the lights had just been turned off. He didn’t know how long he had been in there, but when he opened the door all he heard was the quiet.  When he walked through the door to the pool it was almost totally dark, and everyone was gone.  The only lights in the building were the one’s shining from the very bottom of the pool and the single light attached to the platform railing at the top of the ladder. Johnny looked up at the platform which was shrouded in almost complete darkness.  He now knew, unlike ever before, just exactly what it was that he had to do — and he had to do it now!

                                          It Was His Moment!

His entire life flashed in front of him in that instant. All that had ever mattered to him surfaced within him now.  As he climbed the ladder and finally arrived at the top of the platform, he looked down at the small pile of clothes that he had left on the floor.  As he walked slowly toward the dark edge, he thought about them and smiled.

For the first time he realized that it was much more than just his clothes that he had left down there behind him. He had stripped off something that for almost a year had dominated his waking and sleeping thoughts, something that had held back everything in his life up until today, and something that was almost gone …

As he stepped forward, his future was released from his past. No fear had made it to the first rung of the ladder and what would happen in a few more seconds only he would ever need to know.

In the darkness, only wet footprints led to the southside door. All fear had dissolved powerless in the cold dark water behind …  and there it was to forever remain!

Protection is the veil

— that keeps enlightenment out

 

(From ‘The Road:’ April, 2024)

                                             ‘My Oldest And Dearest Friend’

It’s hard to explain the organic quality of a road unless you’ve been down it.  Perhaps on a Motorcycle, in the dark and the rain, sometimes afraid, but always with your senses more alive than at any other time.

More feeling The Road than seeing it, and more wishing for the outcome than its certainty, The Road you choose is one that you must travel alone.

The Road knows that I am faithful and no longer in search of another mistress.  I ride in awe of her beauty as she brings out the very best in me.  Wanting her all to myself, she laughs at my folly, telling me that: “Of course, she belongs to me and to me alone,” as she watches me leave.

The breath inside of me exhales, but the memory of what’s not forgotten lingers, and I go to bed each night in a cheap motel feeling her turning inside me once more.

Alone on her twists and turns, my thoughts become guided taking me to places in her grandeur that I would never have gone before.  Never promising destination, only duty bound, allowing me to find myself within every drop and elevation that her direction leads.

                          The Road Only Travels One Way … The Way I Need To Go

I am with her during times of her sickness too.  Sitting in the waiting room of her road construction, I watch the large machines rip open her back, replacing what’s vital within her and allowing her to take me to places I have never seen.

The mountains and canyons stand in awe of The Road realizing they only sit in reference to what The Road already knows. Without The Road, their splendor would only be a bleak reminder of potential greatness within themselves.  Without The Road to tell the story, their narrative becomes self-serving and unwashed and then unknown — not even forgotten. It is only The Road and its traveler that carries their message for today and a thousand more as it has always been.  Footpath or gravel, asphalt or concrete, the surface is only that. It stands as an invitation to the traveler who is quickly absorbed in the motion it instills.

The Road can never offer you safety — protection being the veil that keeps enlightenment out.  The Road offers much more.  In its total exposure, it removes all invisibility exposing you for what you are today while presenting again what its next turn may bring.  The Road places all things in motion, carrying your message inside its spirit while delivering you to a place of immediacy where you arrive alone.

The Road begins where excuses end, leaving weakness along its apron, allowing only true meaning to pass through and by.  The Road has no toll beyond the one you set for yourself and has no permanent ending.  Endings are something that have already been discarded and left behind.

Do you wish to be great or just to live among greatness?  The Road never makes you choose.  The Road needs to be ridden like oceans need to be crossed — all meaning pent up in the traverse of its direction.  Understanding is just a myth here. True knowledge waits in the deliverance of how you feel once the travel is done.

There is no deal making to be done with The Road, that is for the hitchhiker and those from a lesser time.

If The Road ever were to end, it would end in the transcendence of your spirit — the place where lovers go to die and children of a greater God are born again.  The Road gives you this without your asking, and without praise or blame you are accepted for who you have now and forever become.

(The West: August, 2011)

Does your life then come together

front to back

or

back to front

It takes years to clearly see

that both

directions

are a ruse

Life revolving as a circle

with you

inside

its center

All phases caught in a whirlpool’s tide

that ebbs

and flows

— divine

 

(The New Room: April, 2024)

 

 

                                  Gray Mountain, Arizona

                                       October 2^nd, 1995

Out of gas again! The chill that ran down the back of my neck when passing that last open gas station should have given me pause. I was so sure there was still a gas station open in the middle of the Navajo Nation, one that served great fry-bread, and one that would get me to Tuba City with a quarter tank to spare. As I fiddled with the radio, tuning into the Navajo language network, the fear inside of me was already questioning what the night might bring.

Six years had passed since I had been down this road. The gas station I remembered was now boarded up and deserted, just like the dreams of most of the people it used to serve. With not enough gas to either press onward or go back, I became a prodigal wanderer in search of a distant Samaritan. I was now seeking in the remoteness of my spirit — the hospitality of the kind.

                        In The Remoteness Of My Spirit

In eight more miles, I saw a gravel road leading to a small ranch house a quarter of a mile at its end. To the right of the house sat a Hogan, telling of native inhabitants inside.  In this part of the west, near the New Mexico / Arizona border, it was assuredly Zuni or Navajo, and I bet Navajo, as I parked the bike and walked up the long stone driveway.  

I left the bike back on the road to seem like less of an intruder and walked up to the front door while rehearsing what I would say.  I was hoping that someone was home, and if they were, that they would open the door. People were very scarce in these parts, and new people usually brought trouble along with them as part of their welcome. 

To my great surprise, an attractive middle-aged native woman opened the door before I knocked and said: “Yes, can I help you?” They were warm words coming from the middle of such loneliness that surrounded me, and I explained to her my situation and that my gas was almost gone.  She looked down the long gravel driveway for what seemed like forever and then said: “The only gas that my husband Charles and I have is in our white pickup truck which is around back.”

She told me that her name was Juanita, and she was sure that her husband would help me. She then said: “He has just gone into the Hogan ‘to sweat’ and would not be out for more than an hour.  If you will remove your shirt and shoes, you could go in and join him, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Just make sure to announce your presence before walking through the flap.”  

Still in my heavy riding suit, I took off my jacket and shirt and the padded boots I wore for touring. I felt a greater weight being lifted from me than just the clothes that I removed, and although I didn’t understand the feeling, I wanted to go inside.

I walked the short distance to the Hogan and stood outside its entrance wondering how I would feel having a stranger walk in on me.  The silence of the open spaces overwhelmed me, as the sound of my heartbeat was the only thing I heard.  With all that was inside me, I heard myself say: “Charles, my name’s Kurt, and your wife Juanita said it would be OK to come in and talk.”  I stood there for a minute that seemed more like an hour until I heard a muffled voice from inside say: “All right, please enter.”

As I stepped through the flap the temperature change consumed me, and the steam coming off the hot rocks made it difficult to see. In the far corner of the Hogan, and with his back to the wall, sat an Indian man bare-chested and shoeless, with his head bowed and hiding his eyes. He had a bright yellow, green, and red bandana tied around his forehead.  Its tails drifted down his back with the two ends resting on his belt. With his head still lowered he spoke again, asking: “Please sit down and tell me what has brought you to this place.”

I explained that my bike was almost empty, and he paused for a long moment before saying: “Your path has today led you in the direction of your own choosing. Sometimes without looking we most find our way. You now need to be able to find this inside of yourself once you leave” 

                          Sometimes Without Looking …

Finally raising his head, he invited me to sweat with him.  Already feeling the effects of the steam, and without any hesitation I said, yes, and we sat there in silence as all things started to change. He asked if I knew why the native man does this?  I said: “It was for purification, and to come in contact with himself.” Then raising his head slightly, he said: “You surprise me strange visitor, you know more than was required and more than most know.” He then told me “I was expected,” and that he knew I was coming. He had known it inside himself since the last moon.” 

                          He Had Known I Was Coming

He then spoke again: “We also sweat to come in contact with our past lives and those of our ancestors. It strips us of all place and time, focusing only on what’s real.  Bow your head and think of nothing, and let the steam come inside you being thankful that on this day the Great Spirit has brought you to me. I will know what is happening, you don’t need to tell me, just feel the steam reach inside you as it frees you from all else.”  As I did, a peace replaced my conscious self, and I felt my body leave the dwelling.  I saw a distant ball-field of my youth, long ago and very far away.

My father was pitching to my grandfather who was catching.  The in-fielders were all faceless and the outfield was gone. Through a connected vision I watched my grandfather pass a signal to my father, and staring as hard as I could I watched for the ball. My father wound up, pitching something toward me, and as it got closer it turned into a white bird with red eyes. The bird flew down low and went completely around me, and then coming up from behind, it rested on top my head.  

I could feel its sharp talons grab my scalp as we lifted off slowly. Our speed increased, as we traveled to great heights out of the ballpark and into the dark.  I don’t know if the flight lasted minutes or hours. I know that I did see my whole life, both the past and what was to come. I saw my children’s, children’s, children, standing off in the distance, all wearing a sign asking: “What is my name?”  

We flew over the Great Canyon, the home of my Mother. We swooped down on the river as our reflections were released to the sky.  At the North Rim. the talons let go and my body was now weightless, and in a mindless free motion I was allowed to begin again.

With this, I heard the gentle voice of Charles calling my name.  Not from anywhere outside, but his voice was calling from within saying to me that: “Everything was all right and it was now time to come back.” I opened my eyes and Charles was still sitting with his head bowed before me, and without my uttering a word he said: “Ok, let’s go get you some gas.”

I ran to the bike and got the plastic siphon hose from the trunk, as Charles backed his truck down the long driveway, parking it as close to me as he could.  We stood there and watched the small tube breath new life into the Venture, and he insisted that I fill the tank all the way to the top.  I tried to pay him, but he refused and only asked for a favor — asking if he could ride on the back of the bike with me to a spot about five miles distant.

I waved to Juanita as we took off together, and in a few short minutes he tapped my shoulder saying: “This is the place.”  As he got off the bike, there appeared to be nothing but desert and rock in the fading light.  I watched him for as long as I could  as he slowly walked East off into the darkness with my deliverance in hand. 

Kurt Philip Behm

I love it so

but stay away …

the mountains

prairies and streams

 

Each morning

the magic unveiling again

each night

a sky covered in dreams

 

I love it so

but stay away …

the cry of the wolf

in the snow

 

A warning to transients

skimming the top

of a landscape

— they’re never to know

 

(Leadville Colorado: March, 2021)

                                                                Three Forks Montana

                                                                     July 22^nd, 1998

Headed south from Helena on Rt. #287, it was early on a bright sunny afternoon and I needed to stop.  The bike and I were both empty and needed a rest.  I was also that ravaged kind of hungry that only four hours of Montana scenery can create. We left Glacier National Park early this morning, and except for one quick pull-over for gas in Choteau, this little town of Winston Montana would be our first real stop.  Real stops are where the helmet and jacket come off, and the crushed soda can goes under the kickstand to keep it from sinking into the soft asphalt.

It was incredibly bright and warm and now thirty-five minutes past the lunch hour.  That’s what the hostess told me at the only Café in town as she was closing up until supper.  “We reopen at 4:30, but for now the bakery’s the only place in town that has anything at all, and they’re only open for another twenty minutes.”

It was twenty minutes till two as I hurried down the street. Just as the hostess had said, the bakery was still open. It had only one person working behind the glass cases, which were all empty as I walked in through the screen door.  Of strange interest to me was the pool table that sat in the middle of the bakery floor. It was in the middle and surrounded by eight small tables, each having two chairs apiece.  The balls were all stacked neatly inside the rack, and there were two cues laying side by side on the green felt in the center of the table.

“All we got left is pie, and that’s only if you like blueberry,” the waitress said, as I walked toward her.” The bell on the screen door was still ringing and she had one hand on her hip.  She started to smile as she saw the look on my face. “I’m not kiddin, it’s all we got,” as she stared right into and through me as if she had known me all her life. “All you got is just about perfect I said, and can I get coffee along with it,” she not knowing that blueberry pie was a favorite of mine.

The first time I ate it as a child I broke out with the hives, but it was so good I couldn’t help myself and I went back for more.

Aren’t many of life’s best things just like that!   The hives never happened again, but I still think about it every time I order blueberry pie. I always wonder if I’m going to leave the diner or café all swollen and red in the face, having trouble breathing and headed for the nearest E.R. for the EpiPen injection.

                                 From The Looks Of Things, This Town Had No E.R.

I sat there in the bright sunlight with the ceiling fan spinning slowly above me offering up a quiet thanks to whoever is in control of things like this.  With blue stains on my teeth and mouth, I went back up to the counter and asked the waitress if I could have just one more piece, and more coffee too.  She looked at me squarely and said, “I have only a quarter of a pie left.  How about if I give you this piece here and wrap up the last piece to go at no charge? If you’ve got a travel thermos, I’ll fill that up with the last of the coffee, it’ll only save me from having to pour it down the drain.  It’s pretty strong by now, but you already know that cause you’ve come back for more.”  “Strong is the way I like it” I said, and with a smile formed over a thousand miles, I thanked her again.

As I sat at the table eating my second piece of pie it reminded me that sometimes, just sometimes, the second time really is the charm.  Today, this second piece of blueberry pie was even better than the first.  I asked the waitress her name as I cleared my table, paid the check and tipped her.

“Agnes, she said, and you ride safe on that bike darlin, you hear.”

Walking back outside I still wasn’t ready to leave, so I put the pie and coffee in the bike’s trunk and started to walk around town to get a better feel for the place.

Dead still and quiet in the mid-afternoon sun, the Winston Montana shopkeepers were all safe behind their windows and doors. There was no traffic on the street.  It reminded me of those Twilight Zone episodes on T.V. from when I was a kid where everything seemed so familiar while at the same time being so strange. I walked the perimeter of the town and ended up back at my bike.  I slowly put my jacket and helmet back on, and in the glare of a south central Montana afternoon, I rode away.

The memory of that blueberry pie has stayed with me all of these years as a reminder that the best things in life are almost always honest and good.  In our daily confusion, we often get off track and forget the bounty that is right there before us — gifts that are usually just inches away from what we already know and are sometimes afraid to admit.  Afraid, because it might not meet someone else’s standard. We too often live in search of false glory — that which is often stolen from a ‘world of consensus,’ and that which is most likely now lost to us in its deception.

                                             As For Me, I’ll Take The Blueberry Pie

If I could structure my life like the pie that Agnes served in her bakery in that remote Montana town, I would create an unfolding trinity of one for now, one for later, and then one for just in case.  ‘Just in case,’ is the great maybe, or mystery, contained within the possibility of our spirit. It’s in the knowing that something better is out there, and believing that that something is going to be good that allows us to hope.

The ‘now’ and the ‘later’ control our daily lives.  It is the ‘maybe, or the just in case,’ that gives us the great hope to go on when the place we now find ourselves in just doesn’t work. Like the three persons in one God, acknowledging the ‘maybe’ in our lives, provides the Holy Spirit for all vision and promise to appear.

The great Chiefs, Joseph and Crazy Horse, knew this inside them, as they led their people to strive even beyond the borders of their own beliefs.  Their pie for today and tomorrow had been taken from them, but they believed in their hearts that they would in fact eat again. In the land of the Great Spirit, and the home of their Fathers and Grandfathers, they knew they would some day feast around the Council Fires of those who had gone before.

From the mountaintops to the canyons, to the bakery in that small Montana town, people still search for that last piece of pie ‘to go.’ They wait patiently for the sweet taste of tomorrow to return, while trying desperately to hold on to the belief that — tomorrow will ultimately be good.

                                   And Tomorrow By Its Very Nature Will Be Good!

As I head further South on #287 the radio plays Bob Dylan’s ‘Blowin In The Wind.’ In the song Bob asks once again “How many roads must a man walk down?”

                                 Just One Bob, As Long As It Leads Back To Today  

 

Kurt Philip Behm