When Old Man Forever asked Father Time not to let me in the Woodshed anymore
A modern myth for ancient man
When Old Man Forever asked Father Time not to let me in the Woodshed anymore,
I packed myself plastic and walked from the Beginning of the Way Back to the End of the Now without making a sound.
Soft stepped, hands pocketed, curled lip indifference to the Woodshed and the woods it came from. I told the Lost Dog, inside my self, we would find home by the next town over, but the next town never came.
Only new names for old things, only the same strip malls baked naked in the sprawl of Sun and Want, repainted to whatever shade of beige is “in again” for those who get to decide such things.
Every corner renamed after the trees that built the Woodshed
and every woodshed torn down for more space to park.
We kept walking until the milk soured and the honey fermented, kept walking until our love for the Woodshed curdled and turned over, thickened in the stew of Too Much to Catch Up On, so silence is as close as we ever get to trying.
We kept walking until the Way Back was lost on us both, until home was not a place, but a perspective we could be buried in.
We kept walking until the Woodshed was as distant as the Birth Canal and we called this distance the New Heaven. Proud of how far we had come, we claimed the walking was required work, a sacrament even.
When Father Time asked the Good Natured Mother not to let me leave the Garden,
I tore at the earth until she poured oil, suckled at the cleft until our mouths stained midnight with what came before us, we drank ourselves subtle in the Moonlight of Want and kept asking.
More, Mother, more.
We want all of Forever and not just the leftovers of the Now. We want to know what came before the Garden’s gate, we want to remember the Woodshed and the woods it came from. We want to go back, but have confused the path for the Way and kept walking.
When the Good Natured Mother finally relented to our endless question, she split herself into the Old Ways and the New Earth and left us at the mouth of the River of Selves.
By the time we noticed her missing, we were neck high in our own way of Wanting. Treading water in the Circles of Time until the River takes us.
When the Good Natured Mother left, she asked the River of Selves not drown us before we were ready, but we, Wise with Forever, demanded the water to rise regardless.
We dammed the river and the river be damned.
We drowned in our pursuit of the knowledge of the time before the River, of the Garden, and the Woodshed and the woods it came from. We swallowed whole oceans in our thirst for more and are still drinking.
When the River of Selves, finally cracked the Dam of Desire, we were left soggy and selfless on the shore of Ego’s Island. From the water’s edge, we see no Moon, but we hear the Lost Dog’s howling.
We know it must be, out there somewhere, stuck between Light and Sound in the endless echo of Suburbia.
We know the Moon is not the Way, but a reflection.
We know the New Earth is not the Garden, or the Woodshed or the woods it came from.
We know this Island is not found within the River, but in spite of it.
We know these things, as well as any Lost Dog can,
but we keep howling,
thirsty.
We keep walking,
the path
Forever.
Thanks for reading y’all,
Alex
Your writing never disappoints. It gives much food for thought: great need to read it over and over in order to glean each morsel. Thank you for putting yourself out there.
Alex, this is incredible. Your writing style perfectly parallels and summarizes what lives have become. I've printed this to bring and share at my office instead of emailing because I don't want it to get lost and grouped in with the average email. It needs to stand out. People need to read (and hopefully see) how they are daily making a choice to "drown" themselves.