Salitter and Time

                There is no God and we are his prophets.
                     -Cormac McCarthy: The Road

I used to measure time by geese and two seasons...The coming and the going...the marching...A pale background to the cackle of crows in the trees below me...The blood and fire of a crimson day in the cerulean cobalt of the soul...Is salvation salvation if all you are is dead? Time was slow and the balcony unstable...

If something is gone does it leave you empty...is the empty music...like you, I move to the coffee and cream...if the cup is half empty, it's half full...if you are filling in the void then you see the glass is half full...when you realize you can never fill the void the glass will always just be empty...

I'm always sorry...


My human wakes in the coming sleep of a dimming Fall...the annual mad splash of acrylic on canvas in the growing shadow...

II hold Juliana in the sky contemplating the apocalypse: kafka: blake: I wonder!darkness: light! Gold: spirit! My girl is treasured gold...

I choose to walk the road with treasured gold round my neck...I choose the long way...the painful steps...the crunch in the leaves leaving my family behind in those steps...

Last night I was in the shower rubbing my eyes and in the wet I got a dark feeling from the always constant knowledge that you could be snaked out by death at any moment...life truly is written like you have one day,two, three days to live weeks, months, one year to live...you're going to die...

I'm going to die.

Ok I guess. I have to accept it no matter what I choose to believe. Whether I'm at peace with God or I resign to, that death is just the end, either way I don't have a choice to not die and not find out. So I'm resurrecting my blog because I still pump blood.    

I love books and I am having a hard time letting go of The Road by Cormac McCarthy...I feel like we're breaking up...and I have to go on knowing what I know now...I'm carrying the fire...the salitter is drying from my life...my eyes have been stolen...my mouth sealed with dirt...I have the bitter knowledge...these words and it are a gift..

In an age of pain could I shoot my child? In a dead age...I will go on holding my child in the dark: a dark that will never know light...I will be carrying the fire with him(my boys) and my girls and my dogs and I will hold on like pain wrapped around my heart like a knife in the skin...the book hurt so much it solidified my human capacity for love at all cost for a father and son and that love could be cast out like the net of father and daughter, husband wife, grandfather: grandma...  

I measure time now by ageing kids and the dying and the leaving...and I love being a father...my children are air and I breathe and hold in my lungs...deeply, the air in river valleys runs like the water below..

I often wonder when we communicate if anything that transpires stays with you...does it stay with you  like you stay with me? are we like two kayaks at a quiet distance at dusk on flat lucid water...

I found a piece of a rainbow in my yard...and the word salitter is a feast...it can be found twice in literature from the 17th century till now...Jacob Boehme, the Christian mystic, wrote:   What is in Paradise is made of the celestial Salitter… [it] is clear, resplendent … The forces of the celestial Salitter give rise to celestial fruits flowers, and vegetation.’

Cormac McCarthy simply said of a dying world in The Road "The salitter drying from the Earth." The devastation given Boehme's meaning is unfathomable...could God's essence ever dry from the land? I hope not...I'm fighting it...I'm writing again...today I give the gift of this one word...