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After scanning its face again and again,
I began to scale it, picking my holds
With intense caution. About half-way
To the top, I was suddenly brought to
A dead stop, with arms outspread
Clinging close to the face of the rock
Unable to move hand or foot
Either up or down. My doom
Appeared fixed. I MUST fall.
There would be a moment of
Bewilderment, and then,
A lifeless rumble down the cliff
To the glacier below.
My mind seemed to fill with a
Stifling smoke. This terrible eclipse
Lasted only a moment, when life blazed
Forth again with preternatural clearness.
I seemed suddenly to become possessed
Of a new sense. My trembling muscles
Became firm again, every rift and flaw in
The rock was seen as through a microscope,
My limbs moved with a positiveness and precision
With which I seemed to have
Nothing at all to do.
My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
reach my hands and play with pebbles of
destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
reading “Keep Off.”
My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
in the universe.
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Dear Diary,
Casey here again in Blue State Hell. How I miss baseball . . . the Authority has tried to amuse me by replaying all 11 games of the 1980 and 2008 World Series, but it’s not the same as watching the Authority’s team throw the third season in a row straight into the litter box. Meanwhile I compensate by climbing up and down the kitchen foul pole, throwing up hairballs in the Other Cat’s dugout, and stealing signs from the dog next door when his Authority takes him out for a walk.
The local mayor has not only put the city on lockdown but has decreed that it is now illegal to go outside without a “face covering.” I suggested that my Authority wear a catcher’s mask for trips to the supermarket, but as the mayor has even less of a sense of humor than a major league umpire, the John Wayne bandanna will have to do for now.
At least I don’t have to worry about Mr. Met bringing the New York bug to my home base. Casey, out.