crossing rivers gone dry

crossing rivers gone dry, empty clouds hurry from the parchment land weaving shadows through the rolling grasses and shrubs, greens fading to browns as each drop of water is milked into the stubborn soil, waiting for the seasons to change, not knowing if they ever will. the smack of the canteen clangs against some loose plastic cord tie and finds its own rhythm against the slipping sandals. the desert through the bend of the river bed betrays no secrets, speaking simply welcome to all who come, words like all of man's necessities, have no justice here, waiting inevitably changes to introspection, to escape the dull reality that time is a wall we cannot scale alone, and cannot find some one to boost me over and wait for the miracle written on the sandpaper faces of every farmer. i seek the transparent water, floating and falling from the sky, spreading up from deep wells, held captive in the greediness of sun parched tongues and faces dulled with desires. i wick swiftly, using the mind to imagine the ancient wells and aqueducts that stretched with the expanding empires of conquered glory and greed, once water flowed from this spot, a mountain so small, only in the unchanging tabletops of compressed sand could frail humans picture a great water works, pleasing the royalties and commoners alike as  the walled city's slaves would turn the mighty wheel that lifted the now dry river to this unloftley top, sending even in the shimmers and reflected light, designed to last forever, the miracle of distributed water. send to every point claimed by birthright of the majesties that reign where no rain will ever drop and dampen this dusty soil that clings to every uncovered inch of skin, seeps up through the sinuses and invades the precious brain blood barrier, throwing sand into the delicate exposed transaxle of the human/being barriers, the walls between the flesh the chakras and the divine shell are leaking, the transporter of experiences, sits hot and dusty on rocks of burning desire and passion, now left to heat the air long after the ancient sun declines all invitations to stay, just this one moonless night. my footsteps depart on the smooth stone beneath the banks that shield me from prying by well meaning but unbearable sufferers from their lives, they eke a harsh harvest, those that plant in the rocky earth. what wonders that once were and are no more as eke becomes less than eke and finally the small embarrassment of death is managed, as if there was something that could have changed all this, somehow denied the inevitable yet again but for some more perfect sacrifice, some sale of those deathly organs, that become the final entry in a e-form stored on some infinitesimal portion of virtual space, now so perfect as a non entity so easy to manage without the constant babbling of wasted thoughts that have all been thought before, all words that have been spoken in a language that enslaved everyone from birth, from a contrived life, meant only to fill the time, fill the space, become the most finited restrained and fearful reincarnation that could possibly have been programmed in everyone, from birth, until that journey ends, i slip and feel the bruise of the small boulder i chose not to see directly in front of me. pausing just long enough to realize that to go or to stay is completely neutral. all action is the movement of the divine will through this created universe all experiences are the diving consciousness, untouched by the mind, you are the expression and the form of the formless flawless unknowable truth. it is not the answer that is sought but rather the  moment without minutes, the spaciousness unspoken. there is only being in the dry river, without the water, it has become perfection.