THE WIRES IN THE SKY

The wires stretch across the city and the car goes along at an even pace. I sit and watch the lines and the driver is silent. I used to watch them like that and they would dip, then it was as if they hit something when they got the pole, and then they would begin their dip again, - then hit, then dip, and hit dip hit dip hit dip hit dip. Beyond them were always the clouds. There was also the sound in the ears, the Buddhist sound, or the Christian sound, or the non-denominational sound of what some people call the Holy Spirit. There was going to be some great future, a soul-meeting, - an adventure, - this was the intuitive feeling, - and afterwards, - it proved correct, for there was all that is all that and more, - much more. So we wait,- and we look at the lines again- and one time, in the month of August, for the highly perceptive and keenly aware, an evening sky will come, or else an afternoon wind, or possibly it will arrive in the form of a morning scent- and what will it say? It’s says that the autumn is nearby and the summer will die. It speaks about old classes that began, the anxious mornings,- the dread, but even under the dread there was yet something beautiful, some Gnostic presence in reality,- the guts and innards of deep reality itself- that are unchanged by Maya, by Time, by Circumstance. And what is that reality like? It is a bit like the hit and dip of the hydro lines believe it or not, - or the feeling whilst watching them. A bit of a trance, a bit of a dance, a bit of a chance upon a spinning orb in the galaxy. And I remember an old lady who rolled out bread like food with wine bottles and rolling pins. The scents also of food cooking or the September wind wafting still surviving Indian summer flowers scents through a window white, its pane a rather old, the white paint broken and it makes the wood underneath to look like a deep water cavern or lagoon. Wires. Sky. Sills. Hit and dip…

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