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Manroot
Manhood.
A poem
about an reinitiation in the garden
Date: 7/30/2006 10:17:53 PM ( 18 y ) ... viewed 889 times 7:49 PM
July 30, 2006
Went to find my spirit today.
I had lost it.
Too many figures
Too many money numbers
this past month.
Too much sitting.
Too much hard core figuring
really quite castrating.
I know I have lost my spirit when
I start getting scared
and realize I am relying on another person
for the precious sustenance I have inside myself.
I didn't know where to turn.
I turned to the garden.
I am feeling content now,
at peace five hours later.
Lit a candle to remind
myself of the blazing light at
sunset I saw in the opening
of the bamboo groove,
ligjt shining right where where I was
working.
I had been working with a surprizing
find, a new bamboo shoot that
that felt like a the energy of a manroot,
a powerful male apendage coming
out of the ground.
A week from now I have no idea how
big this manroot will be.
Bamboo grows fast. This is lumber
bamboo the kind that built the ancient
China that knew lived with nature.
I have been having the space cleared
where bamboo, some of it once 50 feet
high still laid fallen even four years after
the fire, making the space impossible to
penetrate.
The fire.
Best Friend was on top of me
late that night,
She looked out the window.
We heard a scream, and saw the
flames/
Coitus Interruptus.
I was only two weeks or less
out of hip revision.
I was in a hospital bed in
my room and she was holding
on to the trapeze.
I asked her to go get a hose
and see if she could put out the flames.
I struggled out of bed and put
on this space man contraption
that fit over my hip and down my
leg, to keep me in place.
A woman ran into my room.
She said, "get out!
The house is going to burn!"
I thought "no," but disconnected
my laptop just in case and gave it to her.
The hose merely dripped, Best Friend said.
Hardly enough water power for that
fire storm burning through the cane.
It was the bamboo that saved the house.
It would not let the flames cross a very manly
defense. Lots of bamboo blackened.
The structure inside the groove burned.
Life here changed a lot after that.
There would have been no fire
had I spoken up. I was still bedridden.
I did not feel good about the lady
who stayed in the tent that night.
I did not want her here.
She awoke to find the candle
she lit fell over. The fire burned two
structures, and a ton of kane
before the fire department came.
Four years may have passed since then.
Recovery sometimes takes a long time.
The grove is mostly clear now,
a summer project, just like
fixing finances.
Housemate Scott this afternoon
was talking about
having a men's group, then
I took my stumbling mind
into the garden when we were done.
Barefoot, I remembered my own
teaching, The Soul and the Earth are
Soilmates.
It felt good to spend a Sunday afternoon
this way. Scott was doing outdoor
work, cutting pieces that had fallen.
When he left, I went down
inside the grove alone,
deep into the grove.
There in one area of crevice,
where no bamboo had filled in
I counted three
young male stalks of new growth
each no less than six inches.
I uncovered one in the middle
and drew the old humus to both sides.
I wanted to feel the testicle energy
at its base.
I closed my eyes and held
the manroot that was wider than most
women will open.
Barefoot, I got the hose
and watered good the new shoots
and then lathered them with
worm dung.
I am going to grow strong
with the new stalks of bamboo
that could be ten feet high by
September.
I realize I haven't done anything
creative the past month,
little writing, saying no to
most things that give me Life.
Today, I took back my manhood from the
fire. Today, I took back my depleted spirit
from the financial figures that have no breasts.
8:27 PM
Sunday eve
dark
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