Transfixus Sed Non Mortuus

Here I Stand, Pierced and Transfixed

Browsing Posts in Free Writing

A Red Ribbon

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There it is. The red ribbon that fluttered down on top of the plastic money. It curled and unfurled like the bloodshed caused by its own flag. The bones of the fallen cry out in agony before the quiet light of the new dawn. There is nothing to keep them from coming unglued and rising out the earth like forlorn warriors from a forgotten romance. How does one remember the the king? How did the red ribbon float to earth here? The questions plague and confuse my heart-heavy soul. The dreams and half ripshod memories I drink are as gallons to the sea of inequity and iniquity. The answer to the profundity and exclusivity are surely answered by the tint and sheen of the red ribbon. The truth that danced before the cauldron’s olden weave and entered into time and space is clearly rising over the moment like a blood-red sun. The gravity and hope compells me closer to imagine its zenith and the light that dances off the ribbon reminds one of the power and purpose of this shoddy play, while I, the actor must move in time with my own lines. Someday, the red ribbon will dance again on the pearls of a new wind.

I walked into the cold remembering wind and I looked both left and right. A shrug of the shoulders and a tightening of my jacket juxtaposed my mind, my body, and my soul. I shook my head to clear my mind, but that did little to fix the scrambling bumbling me. I walked down the sidewalk, but ducked into a cavernous alley to see the sights and smells of the underground. Sadly, movements were furtive and unease was a disease throughout the red graffiti’ed brick. I lacked the knowledge and the courage to speak when the lonely voices were diminished by the hunger in everyone I encountered. Their eyes plead and beckon and their thoughts were more fuzzy than my own. I am not a large player along the scale of generality, but I do have the ability to see to very soul of the matter. And I tell you truly that your poor narrator will not forget the lines that have been taught by a hundred past obsessions. But as I stepped into the threshold of my own door,the question came and went like a passing car: What else is there to say?

Once Again

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Here I am. Once again, I have a heavy head, and the heady seas of mind could crawl over me in white waves while I sleep listlessly on the shores of tomorrow. There must be a spot where the wind doesn’t whip through her hair and where my heart is less battered and scared. There must be a place where the dunes flow through eternity in a constant gentle reverie. Surely the moment that dawned in this brain and walked through the clouds’ pain can taste a bit of this sunshine. There is a gentle rolling thunder that portends the quickening of a lightning strike. I can hear it, and I fear it not. I can see the thick clouds and I do not run. Though the skies may rend like a temple curtain, I will float on in perfect harmony. My head may be heavy, but my heart is lighter than diamonds. I have amended the broken plot of land and I have cleared away the wreckage. I have danced after the tornado’s winds descended. I have laughed where all the shadows cried. I have done all these things and I do yet more again. There is no place better on the horizon, though the spot that eludes me might just be beyond that. I will cling to that bit of hope and fight the fight I was meant to fight. Perhaps the seas will deluge and perhaps the earth will quake. I will stand firm and I will live on. Let that silence kiss the stones wherever you walk and may the cool light crash like a gargoyle falling from the ruins of the sandy castles I once built.

Dust and Shadows

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The trail was marked with potholes and two thin lines from the thousands of wagon wheels that swung their heavy loads across the windy wild expanse of grass. Here, the moon that blazed like a diamond in the canopy of stars beckoned and welcomed us as if to say that our dreams were locked up tight in that old man’s face. The gaunt silence was only broken by a lonesome call of a coyote or two, and all else was as still as the space between stars. Nowhere in all this was any living creature at home. All felt the grim and strange hope that seemed to haunt and beckon like so many grains of sand in that dusty place. Let the sands roll and let the wind come up from the west and dance on our nostrils! Let the soil cry out and the skies give in! There must be some place where the shadows that dance can be taken in!

Blood of Kings

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It’s fickle and it’s flowing through me, ever inconstant. Inconsistency in motion, I float in this small shell that was given a small place to grow. I am of the blood of knights, ever loyal and true, but I never learned how to be true to you. I have the blood of honest knights and high-crowned kings coursing in these glimmering arteries. I have the blood of knights with chivalries, it’s true. Yet I do have a servant’s heart. I bow before a thousand lieges and lineages that trace their way through my mind and soul, intertwining loyalties with misplaced perceptions…and love. I stand at the brink of the cliff where others’ blood has flowed, and my own along with it, to the very crevices of my fear. Can I stand back and watch the wicking cloth catch the last rays? Can I give until my royal blood is frayed?

I tried

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The clouds roll on and the winds cause sway. There’s that moment of certainty in every day. But we aren’t really at the place we thought we’d be. We aren’t really sky-high in billowing calligraphy. Engines rattle and shake us like leaves on an ill-born gust, and shadows creep incessantly along the periphery. The gauntness taunts my heart, but tightens my heartstrings. There are near-fought wishes and long-held dreams that are as far away as those white tufts above us. But I will make shapes of the clouds, even if it’s only in this troubled mind. I will run free, whether wind or storm tarry me. I will fly high even when my wings are weak. Hope will grow from action to action, and from moment to moment like an ever-blue sky. Peace’s currents will roll in and through me like light that warms. There, I will sit and rest in the face of the rolling clouds and the sway-causing winds.

A Road I’ve Ran


I run down a fear-lined road where resting only prolongs the solitude and impoverishes the sacred. There is light here, and I am thankful for the thousand colors that wash my face in the white of that blazing sun. Ah, that burning orb so far from here, yet so near to my thoughts. I seek that quantum uncertain solace that only animals seem to know. Yet, I am not an animal. Or perhaps I am an animal. I run in the white-hot sun, and I run down this troubled, broken, and blessed road. My own breath took me from the wooded trail and into this sunlight, and my sweat pours unyieldingly into every fear-covered crevice and crack. Why do I have so much to offer, yet so little to prove? Why do I live a thousand dreams and continue to run a thousand useless races with only my flint face and a cartilage heart? I’m so bloody thin, gaunt with hunger of the soul, but I am fed by the road and the sand and the sun. I wonder how long I can run?

The Key

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There is a key that if all music was played in it, there would be only happy days. The laugh lines would deepen as the wrinkles fall away. Limbs that hadn’t coursed with new blood in many a day would soon be dancing away to the beat. In that gentle key that means so much to me, there would be crescendos and mezzo pianos and quiet remarkable notes of joy. Holy acres of unturned souls would laugh together at once, if only the chord could be struck in time. The very lines of any composition of that key would leap off the page. When reading such freedom, if you read between the lines and see anything but love, I would tell you that you’re reading it wrong. That key could hold its own bravely and freely in a thousand tunes and a million songs from a hundred thousand lands. That key is the key for me.


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The foam from the sea seems to cover me. White lather carried from the tallest wave of the northern reaches seems to reach down and overflow my dreams. The stars shine over the waves and the waves make foam in my life, and my, how churned up are my memories! Yet peace lies in my own nesting heart, and like a rock that runs deep or a tide that runs out, I can see the windward side of any wave. Hollowed halls and hallowed ringlets dance in my life’s moonlight, though they are covered in the selfsame foam that wracks over me. Oh, if I could see more often that shadowy place where the realms of truth and joyful solitude lies! What a free-running child I would be!

You’re Beautiful

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“God, you’re beautiful,” she said in an awed, hushed voice. I looked behind me to see only landscape. Pointing at my chest, I said, “Me?” She nodded ever so gently, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “You must be mistaken” I said with a grin. “There is so much darkness hidden within.” It was her turn to laugh and in a voice like melody she answered,

All that you’ve faced and all that you know have made you pure in the driving snow. You do not forget the past and are hopeful for the future, but those don’t hold you like this moment does. You are silly, foolish, and childlike. But you are wise because you feel others’ sighs and cries. And so, I say again, ‘You are beautiful.’ It is your mistake to think otherwise, and it always has been that way because you always have been this way: beautiful.