“The end of life is like a stage under red cliffs, except I’m absent”, he said, his words a mere gasp, his watery blue eyes staring nowhere. “Who’s the cowboy”, I asked? I was curious about the reference. “Just some clown”, he whispered, and then repeated, “just some clown”.
I saw a mirror of my heart, it lay in a basket, underneath the red cliffs above the arid floor. While all around me flew the dust of time, and I thought what was this meme meant for? Far above on the ridge there was a cowboy, and he rode like a concrete stick toward the dawn. And when he glanced beyond the red cliffs, he smiled, like he knew the devil owned the door.
There are times in this life when I feel absent, and those times it seems to me come more and more. While I long for more attraction, that place of being, I knew before. I know it seems like this is one big paradox, forever clinging to aloneness like it’s a shore.
For all around me minutes are passing, racing through my empty soul to reach its core. And the red cliffs up above they seem cerebral, like a dying brain, can’t crumble anymore.
And absentia whirls around me, while I’m still breathing, and it curses anyone, who laughs or is a bore. While the red cliffs shudder above my skinny frame, till I can’t remember how to breathe no more. And those ridges up above, where that cowboy rides with no love, turn too steep to attempt to climb anymore.
For my mind births desolation, in it, prions come to feed, and when they jump for the last time, my contractions give pause to disaffect. Under these red cliffs I see no reason, such bitterness, no content, and when I look upon that ridge one more time, no cowboy rides, just emptiness.
And then here I go, in a sunset glow, just laughter everywhere, red cliffs they disappear, and up and down, my lungs so full of oxygen, my breath, and absentia here I go, over the ridge to find my soul.
This is written for the absent, with minds consumed by Alzheimer’s, Dementia, or like my own dear father, with the watery blue eyes, Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. May they find their soul over that last ridge. – 08.10.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל