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.


candle girl writing

When a season passes, a god turns another

page and a fierce wind blows,

carrying away the remnants of unfulfilled thoughts

and unattained dreams. The sky shimmers and gleams,

and new life emerges, sparkling with hope and aspirations


And the god smiles, awaiting the new turn of events


And so do the demons playing at its feet,

around its lofty seat, scampering and

feeding on the breadcrumbs of its designs,

the leftovers dropping from its towering desk like rain


Salivating, the demons run around the god’s feet,

chasing and maiming and killing each other over

pieces of leftover dream, ripping each other apart,

spraying the land beneath them with thick, black blood

and bitter strife, eating each other up and casting the chewed,

bloody bones below, into the minds of mortals


And the afflicted do as the demons do,

paying no attention to the divine changing of the seasons


The god smiles. It knows what the

demons do, sees how their savage nature

infects the world below. It does not worry.

Paying no attention to the din beneath its feet,

and with a smile, it lights a candle,

smiting the dark corners of the chamber with

the soft warm hues of a fresh flame


Below, cannibal carnage and bedlam.

The demons tear each other to

shreds, sowing curses and monstrosity,

jealousy and apprehension, reaping envy and

fear, suspicion and spite and dread, festering

vanity and lust; seething, blistering envy.

Black clouds gather over the world, dripping

with demon-spite, drowning the land

in pools of fanfare and malice. Retarded progress stirs.

Sticky tentacles extend from disturbed minds, writhing, flailing,

heaving with shiny, juicy, fruity promises made

by self-proclaimed saviors and charlatans, by midgets

standing on giants’ shoulders, pretending to seize the day


They seize nothing other than people’s hearts,

squeezing, squeezing, squeezing with

maniacal obsession, crushing them to a pulp


The god smiles. Such is the way of the universe.

Fierce. It was written so in the great script before

the oldest of the gods were formed, when the

world was just the beginning of a breath,

the assembly of a single thought, a tear springing

from the eye of a child in the dark of the night,

inside which the spirit of life resides


The god smiles and places the mighty candle at the center

of the desk, in the center of the chamber, among a million other

candles. Their flames beam and radiate, illuminating the dark nooks

and crannies, reminding the world beneath god’s feet that beyond every

black cloud and broken dream, beyond every unscrupulous,

small-minded scheme, blazes a light tended by those

who have our best interests at heart, waiting for us

to rise above the carnage and join them in a world

where the demons run amok not above our heads,

or in our midst, but beneath our table and seat.

At our shuffling feet. Beyond our scope of worry.

stars sky