...And Then He Wrote Meditations (Alt)
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Straddling the darkness,
he controlled the bucking thrusts and rode on
Into the emptiness that he alone would try to fill
Into the middle to try and be the bridge between spirits
“Expand” he screamed
The vacuum was aroused, suspicious and alarmed:
who would dare?
But on he rode.
The tailwinds were from Africa,
the bass and force were timeless rhythms that restructured beat and consciousness,
the chasms between seconds
were made real and whole
new targets imploded within the boy,
holes were punctured through ebony nothingness
and resistance increased, walls appeared -
Rise up train, the answer is just beyond the next wall
Rise up train, the answer is just...
beyond the next wall.
The train rose up.
No one had ever so thoroughly defied the night
The crosswinds were from the east,
Lyrical assessments, harmonic sirens that called, cut deep
into never-seen yet half-remembered desires
Is there a reincarnation, oh lord?
Do I recognize a part of me that is dying
in the crevices of all these bleak skulls
lying conception-less here?
Non-existence attacks the man
“Go back intruder! you are not welcome here!
We have no need for your emotions here.
We have no emotion here.”
But obscurity was losing its grip
The inky blackness gave way to grey shadows
The canvas of limbo became a veil
Porous and smoking from the heat
As rays of light touched upon never illuminated concern
The screams grew louder.
The once placid nightmare of soundlessness was crumbling
Giving way to cries:
“go back! - go back! - go back!”
And screams of pain and anger
In this the place you seek, black traveller, he was asked,
in this place we will tear the flesh from your body,
here we will gladly crush your skull pour acid on your exposed and rotting brain,
but we never let you die.
We hold you here alone and worst of all
aware of all that we do to you -
we hold you captive here in hell.
“But come” said the wind -
the threats were not the only sound -
the faint throb of warmth that lay vibrating
just beyond the horror of hell
was a magnet pulling and reaching,
drawing him on.
“Come, hell is past for you” said the wind
and the rhythms of heaven absorbed him.
A love supreme
A love supreme
A love supreme
A love supreme
And then John Coltrane wrote meditations.
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