Hemispheres

May you be forty years in heaven
Before the devil knows you’re dead!
--Irish Toast

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Tonight the nocturnal winds whisper silence between the hemispheres of existence: life and death converge.

And to that end, time sadly catches the soul. Oh how I fear the hour of my passing, and yet, pray for the serenity of the everafter. The winds show no mercy.

An old barn sits stoically outside my back window. Grey clouds shroud its existence, as does the whispers of the early spring wind. Naked trees, harboring life within them, etch the sky while their limbs bend with the whims of the wind’s solace and grace.

There seems to be a Celtic essence about.

It is difficult to describe this essence, just as it is difficult to describe infinity. Where did time begin and where does it end? How can heaven be boundless, yet there is an entry point? Can there really be an infinity, or are we lost in some undiscovered fallacy of logic?

The Celtic essence, it is in the mountains. They call my soul, relentlessly. The barren peaks of emptiness celebrate the serenity and simplicity of existence. It is where you discover God, discover your soul, and relinquish your madness. You cannot discover these in the emptiness of Michigan.

It is in the mountains that the hemispheres of existence become apparent and distinct; reality is only a temporary delusion. The search continues. Death becomes apparent.

I fear death.

It frightens me because I cannot see beyond my years. The darkness of this abyss encompasses me to the point that what seems like limitlessness, in reality, is nothing more than a cloak of finality.

Yet, my soul continues to roam. It is in my bike, it is in my guitar, it is in my poetry, it is in my books, and it is in my philosophy. Maybe it’s Solomon. But, the madness continues to plague me because the search continues in secular futility.

The mountains call to me for a passage of last rites. They bring me beyond the futility of secularism, allowing my soul to roam. At which point madness becomes the standard, and the fear of death is embraced.

The purity of the mountains bridge beyond the shallowness of my existence.

An echo persists…

EjG

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The piper’s calling you to join him
Dear lady can you hear the wind blow
And did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.
--Stairway to Heaven; Led Zeppelin

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Solomon asked the scribe, “Do you fear death?”

The scribe shook his head yes.

“As do I,” said Solomon. “As do I.”

And at that the scribe cried.

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Dudley Dee