SACRED FIRE, HOLY SMOKE
One morning on Keats

March 15, 2008

I woke up early and slightly uneasy, as life would have it. It was a compressed night on a compressed island surrounded by salty water and probably the occasional 24-foot Basking shark minding its own beeswax. All of this took place within earshot of bright lights and sad stories.

For those keeping track at home, Keats Island is west of Bowen Island and Calgary and countless other cities including Istanbul, Syracuse and several more who asked not to be identified.

Friends were sleeping in the loft above and so on, so they say, so I made a fire and meditated in darkness, just above my legs. From there came a moment of watching my own thoughts being transmitted from somewhere I couldn't find.

Then afterwards a poem was scribbled (not Busy Night Indeed but Silence!).

Still dark, I stood outside in the shadows of giant trees not much different than myself, cast from the porch light (or so it claimed). From there I wrote another poem and as the earth tilted towards a second chance (first since the operation), I walked with my girlfriend's scarf towards the ocean while swallowing parts of the surrounding space that repeatedly explored my lungs.

I felt curiously, enjoyably peculiar about who I might be as further little thoughts ruminated from the embers of my distended belly, into my head, and then onto this page.

These were the semi-complete patterns of letters that came and went (I wrote this first one while walking and remembered it for later).*

IT WAS A VERY BUSY NIGHT

It was a very busy night
last night
while I slept
tides came in
waves crashed
babies cried
and were fed
there were many acts
of love
and kindness
others not so much
the earth turned
the atmosphere adjusted
rains fell
feet got wet
yes
last night
while I slept
was a very
busy night
indeed

BREATHING

I awoke with
a rather pronounced
sense of
dis-ease
only to find
it eventually
passed

SILENCE! (6:21 am)

In silence
I learned
We have prisons
because we are imprisoned
We have propaganda
because we are hypnotized
All day we live in a movie
and later the angels come
and show us more movies
Watching my thoughts
I knew
there is freedom too
Now I must
make a fire
and start the day

FIRE

Making a fire before dawn
blowing on the last embers
of yesterday’s dreams
I realize
how much pleasure
this ritual has given
to man
for eons
knowing for a little while
those he loves
will feel a little warmer
for a little longer

CUT BACKS

Walking this morning
I noticed things
More than usual
I noticed things
For example
to the left of the steps
I walk down
there is a cut
back
carved into
the land

GUT FEELING

I walked
stomach first
this morning
for a change
tired of denying
that we
really do
exist

BREATHING II

It’s not
as bad
if I breathe
into it

SAMSARA

I was contemplating about
what existence
must have been like
before humans were around
to contemplate
about
what the meaning of existence
must have been
before humans were around
to contemplate about
what existence
must have been like
before humans were
around to contemplate about
what the meaning of existence
must have been
before humans

WONDER REVISTED

I sit in silence
and wonder if that’s it
I see a tree
and wonder if that’s it
I watch my breath
and wonder if that’s it
I hear some truth
and wonder if that’s it
I try to stop wondering
and wonder if that’s it
and before I know it
it’s time for supper

*Keats Island, for the record, is not named after the poet. Nor is the poet named after the Island. However, the Island is still full of poetry, but if the poets are correct—or at least John Donne—no man is an Island. That said, several people are definitely peninsulas, and Keats himself (the one the Island was named after) actually claimed his maternal grandfather was an isthmus trying to get away with being an inlet, but I have my doubts (and my hopes). Pete xo