Response to Cave of Forgotten Dreams

Reflections on Chauvet Cave

When first he saw his hand

Then he became a man

First laping water like a dog

At midnight

At a stream

With and hiding from

Other animals

His eyes only for them

His ears only for them

See how they move

Shoulder blade punching through

Paws flaired

Hungry to eat flesh

Hungry to make flesh

Hungry to rest a while by the water

He saw emotive animals

Lapping water at midnight

They took refuge in a cave

Bones of prehistoric bears

Cast eternally in cave drip

Saved for all time

In the belly of their mother

Smears of smoke

Dressing the walls

30,000 years ago

He pressed his hand here

His first signature

Pressed indelibly by his own fear

Of the unknown

Of death;

He made life

He pressed a rock to the wall

And gave birth to a lion

A lionness—troubled by the lion

A heartsick lionness

Flairing paw for food

Flooding a glacial plane

With tears of frustration

Oh how they move!

Oh how he knew!

And then he saw his hand

This one we call Adam. 

TNT_2

Week 1 Observations:
1. tendency to raise shoulders, draw neck forward, and clench right hand, including tension prior to beginning in anticipation
2. in response to a clenching right hand, I removed right hand from notebook: right hand still unconsciously tense, pacing is slower, left hand more deliberate
3. success with 'reversibility' early during one day while listening to the news. Thought: "maybe I don't know"
4. improved legibility with a change in medium from pen to pencil
5. most legible when writing unconsciously

TNT_1

observations:
 1. tendency to clench paper with right thumb
 2. clumsy left to right movement, regular adjustment of left hand on page
 3. tendency to draw neck forward towards page
 4. spell 'tongue' wrong repeatedly when typing, not so when writing

time: 10 mins
words: 160

Project TNT, part I, Introduction

Introduction: Project TNT

This project started in 2010, fizzled in 2011, died in 2012, and is being resurrected in 2013.

A week ago a family member directed me to an obscure web-page hosted by a Korean star-gazer who told me that in 2013 I would be, "like a dragon without teeth",--not a good omen in context of the last three years of semi-un employment. I have decided that I need a shot of potency in the arm. I therefore return to project TNT.

 This project has five elements. The first of these is a goal to write left handed everyday for ten minutes. The long term objective is to become as comfortable writing left as right. To undo, is as much as I can, what my mother did when at three years old, she shifted the paint brush from my left hand to my right. This part of the project has a very experimental aspect--in that I am interested in learning how this shift can improve plasticity, reversibility (in a feldenkrais context), creativity, and spontaneity.

In 2010, I completed a full left-handed transcription of 3,933 words of Coleridge's Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner . In 2013 I will begin with one month of an anonymous four line poem:

 Only a thought but the work it wrought
 Cannot by pen nor tongue be taught
 For it ran through life like a thread of gold
 And the life bore fruit one-hundred fold.

This will be documented with a photographed index of the writings over time as a means of observing changes, improvements, anomalies etc. in the writing style itself. At the end of one month, a new work of text will be selected.

The Alma Sonnets

Alma 5:38
Behold, I say unto you, that the shepherd doth call you; yea, and in his own name he doth call you, which is the name of Christ; and if ye will not hearken unto the voice of the good shepherd, by which ye are called, behold, ye are not the sheep of the good shepherd.

The shepherd calls his bleating lambs to keep
Within the well-spring of His voice to hear
A whispering that wakes the lambs from sleep
And in the hollows of their hearts will sear
His name, his name that echos like a drum
Reverberating kind benevolence
Ears once stopped once stupefied once dumb
Must shed the mufflers of insolence
And sear upon the ear’s own sounding board
The holy name Christ the shepherd good
And train the ear to grasp His voice and score
These whisperings stored up as heavenly food
Then deep within they hear the Shepherds call
Or else be left to wander, wither, fall.

Alma 5:15

Do ye exercise faith in the redemption of him who created you? Do you look forward with an eye of faith, and view this mortal body raised in immortality, and this corruption in incorruption, to stand before God to be judged according to the deeds which have been done in the mortal body?

Can you with honesty recount this day
In which your itching flesh did steal about
The carnal streets of life in which you play?
And in that frenzied dancing find but doubt
In He who made thy form to slither through
These littered streets of opportunity
To shed these weighty scales and doubt eschew
To trust in His redemption coming free?
Can you then with scale-less eye more clear
Perceive the deeper meaning of the itch?
Feel it soothed abetted in a smear
Of the Creator’s healing balmy pitch?
Can this same eye now see that frenzied dance
When hammer falls like you beneath His glance?





Alma 5:52
And again I say unto you, the Spirit saith: Behold, the is laid at the root of the tree; therefore every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit shall be down and cast into the fire, yea, a fire which cannot be consumed, even an unquenchable fire. Behold, and remember, the Holy One hath spoken it.

Mark it that a voice from heaven warns
The ax the tree the image to inflame
The fruitless mind the fruitless life to shame
Reveal the barren soul but food for worms
Now see the flame with fangs bared out to feast
Now see that wooded though not fruited tree
An everlasting scorched sterility
Made house for seed again in flames that cease
Not even in the end. When time roles out
His parched and leathery tongue like carpet bags
Long stayed long baked beneath the long day’s sun
Not setting though the day is done. A sprout
May spring from heated charcoal then these fags
Mark the heavenly voice that says ‘it’s done’!


Alma 5:26
And now behold, I say unto you, my brethren, if ye have experienced a of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the of redeeming love, I would ask, ye feel so now?

There was a song that once upon a day
Sang out a lovely tune upon your heart
A heart that felt vibrations pulse and sway
Resounding in its caverns every part
Beating out that chamber’s sour dis-chord
Beating in a kinder harmony
Setting free the chambers gated hoard
Of humming, purring, sweet felicity
That then within the violin did ring
That then within the piper’s pipe did tweet
That then within an angels’ chorus sing
Within these beating chamber walls so sweet
Has that sweet song now faded to a din?
A droning pandemonium within?

Memory Project cont.

(Early March, 2011)

Memory as Honesty

What would if mean
If you told her you loved her
But could not recall it?

Can a lifetime of color
Be washed to dull-edgeless gray
In one bad day?

What demon shadow is this
That follows me always
But when I am alone?

I confess I have been untrue.
A heart decided knows
What it has said.

___

Memory as Motion

Mostly I remember the sweat
Of distaste
Of displeasure
Of dispute

Only I am robbed by the stuppor
Of inaction
Of indecision
Of hesitation

Truly I am trouble by the vacancy
Of momentum
Of connection
Of comprehension

Surely I am more than these:
Sweat
Stuppor
Vacancy

___

Memory from the deeper past

The harbor was green and singing then
Untouched
By an iron-clad foot.

It's waters teemed with life
Unfettered
By fear of discovery.

I ran about like a lunatic then
Moonstruck
Mindless of my place

In the order of things
Unfettered
By the bonds of awareness

The harbor and I sang together then
Calling out
The almost unseen dawn

Drawing out the darkness of the woods
Unfettered
By the obscurity and ignorance of night

Memory Continued

June 24

Memory after forgetting

I forgot it was his birthday
For the first time
But remember many in-between.

There were simpler times
When a warm cup of joe
And four lines of poetry
On a frosty moonlit night
Were enough to fill us.

Now of necessity
We pursue money
Mountain tops
Stability.

And those simple times
Are cached like Rhodes Gold
A golden luster
To seek and find
In a different time.

----

I once forgot how to sleep
So busy counting sheep
Coming one by one
Like a rhythmic beating drum
Braying and Baaaeing
Coded messages relaying
Through the window--a sun beam
And then--I slip in to a dream