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Pastimes : Metaphysics and Spiritual Practices -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Carol who wrote (509)	2/21/1998 2:27:00 AM
From: Harmattan	Respond to of 650

mag, "Silence, it is golden, lies quivering, stretched tight like a rubber band. Waiting, to be broken,......... The beginning of a poem that has no middle, no ending..." hey, i'll use some of those words. Avalanche (an experience, a metaphor) frozen in the icy stare of the white rock face pick wedged in a crack, feet dangling heavy and rigid, muscle tissue stretched rubber band tight nerves quivering, skin slippery and shivering, sweat beading on numb chilled neck; hanging from the precipice for one more moment, i listen to the blue ice. ear-splitting cracks punctuate the dead silence and ripple across the dripping wall (a cacophony of compressed ice performing an audio dance for the ultra violent sun), the damn sun; friend of a thousand confidences and my mortal enemy. its rays, in warm whispers irresistibly urge me to lean back and let go, to relax into its golden arms all the while inciting the vertical landscape; a cruel smile plays across the white rock face, the contortions felt as a growing roar... a curl of panic wanders through my chest. ghunk (jr. is sleeping one off in the drunk tank)