Moon, Sand Dunes and Death Valley

Jan-Feb, Death Valley- San Francisco

I

We sit in the van and wait for the moonrise

A ritual we never practiced

Mountains crawl around, hypnotic

Silence befalls

10:30 PM. It is the time of a day

To look closely at everything at rest

Yet in the far cities

Lights flicker as insomniac eyes

Brevity and obedience

Desert breathes unnoticeably

The emerging pale light on the horizon

Mirrors the deepest consciousness in our dreams

The van stays motionless

Surrounded by oceans of invisible sands

We each look into the darkness

Contemplate with total absence.

As we drive through the rain

Past through numerous valleys and canyons

Memories sum up to a few moments

Moments we can reflect on but difficult to share with

                         

                    II

Every soul attaches to a star

As every star recognizes a soul

What can the star-track tell us

Destiny or immortality

A starry night creates a love trap

For romantic ones. A elapsed comet 

Is a doomsday prophecy

For the ones in fear

We, the living ones

How much do we need to endure

Just to find out

Our own triviality and vulnerability

But the lake has dried, the mountains continue to rise

Rocks corrode into sands

Salt turns into the stones

The wind is still blowing, age after age

And the living force, hides

Underneath the hardest soil, moves

Behind the gigantic scroll of mountains

It refuses to tell its name and secret

                   III

Finally, as if the sky opens a chasm

The magic light, shining through the air

Sweeps over the valley floor

Living a tapestry of fluorescent shadows

The moon is rising to the peace

The world is rotating to the blue side

Our hysteria, refurbished

Is celebrating a new discovery

Buried deep in our hearts

The fragile chord has been struck

By a sudden awareness of wonder

It trembles, sending the thrill through

Reminiscent of the sunset at the riverside

Or the twilight shining at the hilltop

Tears of bittersweet joy

Rinses the dust of ennui

We jump out of the van

And run to the sand dunes

The deadly valley replete with legends of horrors

Is suddenly invigorated by our laughter and footprints 

                    IV

Touching sands under the moonlight

Is touching the pale shining silk

The silhouette of the sand dunes

Displays the seductive body curves

Serenity glint as tiny waves

The conspiracy of the sandstorm

Is brewed deep in the mountains

Resilient, sand dunes survive on violence

We scatter around as a fleet of small boats

Tied by our common history

Drifting on the mystery of sands and wind

Up and down, step by step

Balanced on the verge of the unified dream

We are moon-walking on the sand dunes

A far cry from the circle inside

Reverberates across the dimensions

To M

TO M  (Part 1)                                      

March 12th 1997, Koeln

                                                   

When the wind blows                                    

I become a piece of falling leaf                   

Floating in the wild torrent towards the ocean     

Cradled, pushed, and crushed                       

But I manage to stay on the surface of water        

                                                   

When the night falls                               

I become a carefree firefly

Easy to spot but difficult to capture                          

Fly all night long until the dawn                               

And I become invisible when the first morning dew dries        

                                                               

When the spring comes                                          

I become a seed in the soil                                     

Eager to see the sunlight after a whole winter's waiting       

Absorbing all the moisture I break through the earth           

Only to find it is already green all around                    

                                                                

But I can be a river too                                       

     Providing you with the constant water flow                

I can be the night                                             

     Wrapping you with the boundless darkness                  

I can be the soil                                         

     Storing the water for your growth in the spring           

Then, tell me                                                  

     What do you want me to be?                                 

                                                                                                                            

TO M  (Part 2)  

May 1997, San Francisco, Morning Due Cafe

Who is walking towards here from the bay                          

       When poppies are blossoming along the way                 

Who is bringing the fog from the ocean                           

       When the city is throbbing with the faintest emotion      

                                                                  

Who is weeping at the riverside                                 

       Where the waves whisper all the night                     

Who is looking at the starry sky on the hill                     

       Where trees have aged a thousand years                    

                                                                 

Who is strolling in the lonely street                            

       Leaving a shadow long and lean                            

Who is lighting up the candle in the empty room                  

       Meditating on his sorrow and gloom                        

                                                                 

Who is putting down his luggage on the station                    

       Waiting for the train without a destination               

Who is loitering in the backyard garden                          

       Searching in the May flowers for the exotic fragrance     

                                                                  

Who is shepherding on the green prairie                          

       Ready to tell another wolf's tale

Who is tolling the church bell in the village    

       Eager to spread an unexpected message     

                                                  

...                                              

                                                 

To M  (Part 3)   

May 1997,Muddy Waters, San Francisco

                                                 

In my dream                                       

I saw butterflies                                

Dropping to the ground                           

As petals of cherry blossoms                     

                                                 

And the broken mirror                             

Sustaining its shape in the frame                

Is calculating                                   

The number of days                               

                                                 

I put down the shade                              

Close the curtain                                

And stare at the white sheet on the bed          

Our white sheet                                  

In the distance                 

A big bird is flying over

To M  (Part 4)               

July 1997, Sitjes, Spain

The story I wrote

            Last September

Has already been forgotten

The clear sky

Is waiting to be covered

By the floating fog

I walk over

            Numerous streets

                        Looking for my perfect window reflection

             

Winter marches over

            Ruthlessly

Without my invitation

You wave your hand

And Disappear

In the dust of the metropolis

           

The gigantic redwood tree

            Is obligated

                        To complete its annual growth ring