Deaf as Dusty Sanctuaries

“Therapeutic relationships
are made of healing voices
retelling stories,
strings of hopeful light
reweaving faith in future healthy climates.”

Writes the aging Muse
in her fusing bodymind
for future integral love stories

As she returns,
without pen or paper,
to her safest sanctuary since childhood,
her local public library.

Coming home to all these voices
written in volumes big and small,
wise through silly,
with faith in industrious publishers
hoping to invest in valued commercial art.

She soon feels dark
immensely dense
without precedent wrong,

by what, exactly?
The silence of mortal fossils,
past commercial and liberal and conserving voices over-written
and under-told,
competing for too quickly dwindling immortality.

Surrounded by unsafe and temporary stories,
epic icons of more and more,
faster and faster fading voices,
some quickly expired
minor meteors of flashing light,
while great classics,
from orthodox scripture parables
to heuristically wild pretense,
flow out of culture’s conserving conscious grasp
more slowly disenlightening hope
and faith
in permanent living climates,
planets retelling stories
musing visitors
in formerly safe linguistic law and ordered safe spots,
WinWin promises
in an otherwise LoseLose world
of storied information
and disformation.

Ancient Muse’s newly desecrating sanctuary
now ages with deep dense degenerating dust,
rusty voices of old enslaved and devalued stories
which, if newly naked written down,
would be ignored far more than revisited
as no longer short-term competitive
in today’s transitionally amusing market
for entertaining throw-away great escapes
from hoary musing
not amusing
inside voices.

She leisurely longingly strolls to reweave
through Poetry
and Religion,
Liturgical Cooking
and Nutritious Fiction,
then Nurturing Philosophy
and Healthy Arts,
Crafts, light and dark,
and LeftBrain dominant Biography,
Children’s DeepLearning Literature
and Earth’s cooperative/competitive enculturing History.

As she passes
each densely grasping voice begins to murmur
until her inside potential voices echo
through her dying ears
and hopeless bleeding eyes
still belonging for creative surprise.

Looking and listening
for hope beyond her own too soon demise
of childhood
for reweaving what this Trickster racket
has not uniquely improvised
into competing climate voices
originally intended as cooperative multicultural chorus
reweaving weathered stories borrowed
and wounded,
bruised blue
yet mortally true,
green threads of hope still sanctuary secured
in ultra-violet musing tapestries
of dense dark dreaming
brighter future voices.

Therapeutic relationships
are made from healing voices
retelling stories,
strings of hopeful climate light
reweaving faith in future wealth of health.


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