When entering the Gorge, leave behind all preconceptions. Let yourself be carried off on a stream of consciousness that tickles the heavens as readily as it grinds down stone.

On The Road To Damascus

PG_Damascus

On the road to Damascus
I find release.
I roam the wilderness,
formless, ceaseless, boundless, reprieved,
free to circumnavigate the universe and its countless
miracles with the effervescent air of a soul detached,
unbound.

One by one I shed my fears, my acquiescence,
venture into the distance and face the coming awakening,
peel the wool off my eyes,
step inside the mill of time during tyranny’s sunset
and watch it suffer the fate of the ages,
watch the tyrants experience their demise –
their souls crushed to a pulp,
their evil extracted, ejected, rejected and dispersed like ashes and vapor,
sentenced to nurture the world they sought to exterminate.

I envision a world of wonder, free from the wicked,
the malign, the toxic,
a life of renewed hope and boundless skies
where the sound of children is a promise, not a threat,
where the hands that grease the wheels and turn the tables
cultivate the grounds instead of tearing them apart.

On the road to Damascus
I will find peace.
I will find love and beauty and fierce grace
on the road to Mosul and Baghdad,
on the road to Tehran and Samarra,
on the road to every city and intervening landscape taken over
by hatred, fear, prejudice and disdain for the spirit of discovery and love,
I will find release and absolution on the road to Beijing,
on the road to Moscow,
on the road to Calcutta and Karachi,
on the streets of Johannesburg,
on the streets of Rio and Sao Paulo,
by the straits of Panama and the bays of the Caribbean isles,
in the fields of Puerto Rico and the hoods of Brooklyn,
in the hoods of Los Angeles and Mexico DF,
in the cultures of those who feel entitled to the world’s fate,
the hordes of men and women seeking to dominate life
with their traditions and values, their noisy creeds,
the self-righteous men on self-righteous paths
performing self-righteous and hideous deeds, self-righteous women
by their side, up front, bringing up the rear, everywhere you look Mongols
and Huns on the march, crusaders, jihadists, simian lords and rulers
of all latitudes on their way to eminence, beating their chests,
bearing their breasts,
brandishing weapons and nurture of a dated kind,
war cry of the primate, the parochial,
the self-indulgent and anointed,
the sophisticated,
the unkind,
the noble savage,
the savage nobles,
the talking ape,
the rapist of nature,
public enemy number one,
public enemy of life on earth,
vampire incarnate,
evil intelligence,
scripture in hand,
God in mouth, in brain, disease,
technological prowess,
hypocritical skill,
brooding assailant,
despot, warden,
raiser of hell on earth.

I walk among the throngs of beasts who walk on two legs,
who speak with silver tongues and occupy two minds,
I walk among these talking contradictions and speak the words that unnerve them,
the words that insult them, I walk among them and let them know
they are beasts, they eat and feast and fornicate,
they spawn with the aim to make more of their own,
fill the land with their kind,
cover it in their sweat and insecurities,
crab-like creatures of hard shell
and soft character, soft interior,
rank constitution,
infesting the road to Damascus and Montana and
Buenos Aires and Cairo and every city on Earth,
and among them I walk, down every road there is,
seeking Death,
seeking Death,
precious dear Death,
welcome Death,
fleeting Death,
sweet deathly fermenting restoration,
seeking it, calling out for it,
beckoning it to come over and take me,
help me depart this ugly world,
take these walking beasts too,
these festering crabs, crush these crabs
and wash their stink away
to bring life back to this exhausted earth. I walk with pride and
extreme prejudice against the despots of this world,
down their paved and unpaved paths,
down the road to Damascus and Tehran, Athens and Jerusalem,
I have Rome on my mind, Constantinople,
Tenochtitlan,
Babylon,
Troy,
Atlantis,
New York City,
I have The City on my mind,
all roads lead to it,
along them I walk seeking sweet precious Death.

I know it hovers somewhere along these paths, Death,
stalking those who seek to avoid it,
who have taken God’s name in vain,
who have buried Reason in shame,
to each their righteous own,
they slay and torture, persecute and destroy,
they perpetrate crimes and atrocities,
befouling life in the name of Something – horrors for which they will
be eventually washed away. Horrors for which they will be swallowed up
in the shadow reserved for the tainted of heart and the frail of spirit.

There, on the road to Damascus,
on the road to Baghdad and Paris and the City of Angels and every city and culture
taken over by the force of rabid dementia, in their gardens and neighborhoods,
on their streets and surrounding lands,
in their dried up lakes and poisoned aquifers,
in the desert, in the heat,
in the cold of their hearts,
there, in the crush of uncertainty, I find deliverance.
Death knows me by my first name,
the world lives to see another sun rising in the distance,
another sun setting in the wake of a bygone day,
another circle complete, testament to the power of reason,
prelude to a rising symphony,
another attempt to restore hell on earth thwarted
and dismantled, hell on earth in the name of heaven denied,
denied,
another revolution of the mighty star culminated,
lighting up the skies,
glorifying the fresh winter day and
readying the coming season,
the spring, lovely spring,
bursting forth unabashed,
life given new lease,
bursting forth with the freshness of birth,
raw with excitement and irreversible like
an earthquake,
it bursts forth with uncompromising commitment,
inspiration and effervescence, and I,
I am watching it all unfold,
blowing a soft wind over the land to
caress its wounds and ease its pain
until the pain recedes.
On the road to Damascus.
On the road to every city there ever was, is, and, in good time, will be.

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