Celtic Radio and the Fourth Dimension (manuscript: frontispiece and first image) Commenced July 14, 1997

Celtic Radio and the Fourth Dimension (frontispiece)

I.
Take me to the high hills
Where purple flowers sway
And bees hum.
Magic bird pounds her song in my ear---
When I look, there is no living creature there!
No bird, no dog, no man.

We are bathed in the river of time past
Flowing into time present:
Time present flowing into time past
in one waterflow.
The beginning ever renewing
in universal flashing.

Each man is an ‘adam’
First in his race.
Each finds the world to his liking;
The plenitude of mystery:
Red, green and yellow canyon walls,
Crystal caves and stones that light up in phosphorescence.
Each one surveys nature and says “It is good.”
This is Now---
Forever now.
One sacred eternal moment.
Now.

But then,
You pick up the radio, turn it on:
Like a twisted phrase, an alien object from space, it says,
“You are falling. Falling fast.”
My feet are running away to the edges of this day
No more to hold center,
Falling down the purple hillside,
The magic bird flies
Across the sky
Through the valley like a Winter stream.

I find distance
And have difficulty remembering my birth and my original home.
[Before or after is the same whether I find myself in the center of the day or at its edges running away
or whether I am with myself
or finding it difficult to recall my face.]
There is no difference between these worlds!
The world is always the same/ always changing.
[What is forever changing is forever the same*.]
*Heraclitus

II.(Canal du Midi: Azille)
Dull grey fish leaps into my mind
Horse hooves clatter
Bright green lizard pounces on a dusty stone.
Chipmunks chatter.

Brown boar scratches the scented forest floor.
Red fly mushroom beckons from the soil
Purple flowers sway in my eyes
Quartz crackles from the highest hills.
Bees buzz round my footstep
Wind rattles the broad sycamore’s leaves and branch

Sur le canal
God leaps into my mind.
Celtic Radio and the Fourth Dimension
Soft, slow
Like Sunday morning
Like water calm
Finding myself/
Love of God surrounds.
I am a radio playing his peace to all Things.

III.
(Le plage a Gruissan)

Monday, Bastille Day, 14 July.
From the high hill above the final village
I saw your steely green eyes.

All the warm beer and girl’s beauty
Like a quiz.

Pages standing,
Hands falling
In the sable sand
In the steel green sea.

Evening hums with motors and shimmering heat.
Little waves splash in constant rhythm.

IV.
(Fort Bruno)

One with my poem
Sitting on moss
Silent camouflage in shades of green and brown.
Suddenly the wind blasts:
Mushrooms, berries, bits of rain,
The forest makes fun with
Bright childrens’ voices,
Bright children’s coats.
Berrypickers slump over like mosscovered limbs
Sagging through inability
To change
But content to accept the dictates of forest law.
Content as nature.

Content as the curving road
That is, not content.

No magic code to unravel the tangled root
A hidden thing, a maze
Silver night
Weight of gravity.
I do not speak of dialogue or misinformation,
Lack of communication,
or the One and its schism..

V.
(Dans le bord du lac de Jouarres)
Fire crackles at the edge of Lac de Jouarres
Burning off old vines.

All is calm save the crickets and cicadas
As the sun sets in yellow
Over the purple mountains in the Montagne Noir.

Distant buoys rock in and out of view
As you are
In and out of view in my poem.

VI.
(Laure-Minervois)
Wind carries 1000 seeds
Giving to the barren land
Purple clover, dandelion,
Queen Anne’s Lace.

Beauty waves like a blanket in the wind
The scent of ancient dry pines blend
With the endless radio of cicadas.

I am searching for you in the center of this day.
Calm center
within my soul
beyond words of disputation,
dialectics or imagination.

Where Is God at home?
Isn’t it in my laughing eyes
Which see things from the origin as very real?

Harmony between my soul and all created things
Resonates this ragged valley.