Wednesday, November 18, 2009

From my Journal (past and present)

Dec. 11, 2008

Why is Bosnia rejecting me and Boyertown reluctantly claiming me as it's own?

My army coat becomes heavy as my boots spring a leak testifying to the nature of this night. No starlit sky or waxing moon to illumine the crescented minaret. Just angular rain stiffly annointing this sorrowing head. As I walk, enjoining my senses to this hour of discomfort, grabbing ahold and letting go of my vision is expressive and experiential. Following the lead of Lenape lane, I cannot help but wonder if my now leafless outstretched form will survive the fall of winter to realize passion's rebirth. What I know is failure and talk and my words alone are dry tonight.

Words won't save me or change Bosnia.

Do I really want it? Will I embrace this suffering, these trials of the storm? My ego prefers a sonnet but my soul assures me of the power immanent in this broken free-verse.

The storm cannot kill me or keep me from Bosnia.

Nov. 12, 2009

Time is understood today by the passing of the clouds, exchanging minutes for moments, a cooler now sunnier appreciation of her presence. Sarajevo's before me, along with bridged river, rocky and woody chasms and gracefully proportioned and situated gardens of sacred memories. I realize again what this city means to me as a friend appreciates another. She has everything and yet almost nothing. Her intamacy felt; otherness cultivating that flame of discovery. Playgrounds next to cemetaries and places of worship married in space to the devil's brewhouse. A transient cloud now dwarfs a cosmic sun as I feel November once more.


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