August 2000
Letter 20
Prayer for the Journey
(For Don Harmon)

WALK
And know self.

Walk w/ a purpose
and know God.

It's a walkabout, a
sacred quest, a  quest
of vision.

Determination
             honor, an
                           honoring.

Plotting coordinates.
Ritual, serious.
Establishing a tradition
a need for song
and story
alleviate innuendo.

OH! The brother's
spirit lives
within us
if WE live, each

stop a heart-beat
for the decaying
corpse, he now
dependent upon us

and free                      at last.

Thank God Almighty.
                                                             Free
            at last.

No longer burdened
he is free, at once
at last & yet
dependant

upon us, our
waking actions
to preserve
          to create
his legacy.

He lives
within our hearts
as a light
an impulse             
         an energy

an electric tingle
as the wind
what scatters
                  a lonely room.

He lives
each step unburdened
by the weight
       of meat
the curse    
              of carnality.

No Jones to feed
no more.

Free     and yet
dependant
upon us to live
           this life on earth.

Free to lift the
                   burden
of waking struggle
and precarious brain
chemistry, a mix
no longer his burden
to carry.

We carry
him, we propelled
by  his  light
his quiet fire
his example.

We have the soul
   of Trinidad
the action of
             an African soul

carry, joyful
the black man's burden
in America.

Now, the perennial
Mountain View
                    & blue            sky.

Now the cloak removed
from illusion
             the lifting
of the sacred veil.

Now the effort
                         less
                                   ness
no need for further
                   illusion.
Permanent sympathy.

Now the smile
        the quiet rest
the permanence.

He is the tears
what well up
in my eye.

He is the tingle
what motivates
vision
& action.

He the rainbow
                     of agonies, turned
into a walk, sacred
an honoring.

He the black man's
         burden in America
                no longer, now
a simple inspiration.

He, a reason
to be cheerful.
A poet's muse.
A mark in Slaughter
soil.

Unseen powers are
Active here.
Powers that nourish
Shape
                     & connect.

How, in death,
            a Bahai plot
for new connections?
How now a diversion
         from the mundane
a living relic?

To walk, to study now
the path of illumination
of light, deny diversion.

How now an honoring.
A simple gesture.
A thorny crown
             removed.
A resurrection.

How now a time
for deep cleansing,
a realigning?

How now the preparation
for transformation?

How does he work
in death
like vodou?

Like pushing pins
from behind the sacred
veil, like illusion?

Does he play us
     like puppets
or does his post-mortem
energy propel us
give us purpose?

Is he dependant on us now
to propel his vision, do we
give him life with each
conscious step

can we lift
          his burden?

Does he need
           our voices
                     to sing

dance
                        play

to carry out vision?

Does he need us now
more than in life?
Must we dust
off purpose
& postpone procrastination
and diversion?

Can loving him be
our Jones
& his laugh
inside our bones
become real.

                            Can we feel
his burden lifting, can he give
us the energy we need
to finish our tasks?

Can he now fulfill
our most sacred
prayers & wishes, is he

part-dead     part-deity
part now
of the sacred ocean
of unity - what binds
us all
together?

His plot
          is clear now

    and somewhere                he is laughing
                                and walking               through us.

Quote from the Book of Runes - Ralph Blum

peN#984
3:43A
8.20.00