Seems like every time i begin one poem or another prose-verse or for that matter anything at all involving words in sequence on a page i have no idea where they will lead or what they may say and yet I’m so unsure whether they say anything worth much more than an excuse to waste mine and others time. If i could truly find a few words that would stand the test of time, possibly i would find some contentment in myself. I seem to constantly be struggling with the unsettling affect of not being recognized for my art, my images and my verse. Possibly that will end as i end. I can’t imagine a space beyond death where i would be locked into the constant discontent for a life once lived.
How could it be that i could indulge in the out of body experiences so completely feared by most and yet desire some recognition for the deep attempts to write about what i consider important views on the mind and all its maneuvers to avoid the truth that can’t be seen. Stranded like a point on a plane to infinity moving slow and slower endlessly. That has been my life. Most friends have no clue of the experiences i pursued to find the impossible and to come up empty handed, little money and disdained by many a friend. I have friends living off the inheritance of parents, famous artists, life long commitments to employment they despised but endured for the security and comfort of a privileged life. I could recite numerous Dylan lines to depict his and my disgust and yet care for a large part of a humanity that is destined to die numb. That is my fate and i move within these words like a wild animal searching for a fresh kill meal. Sometimes the presence of a spirit writes the words faster than i can type. Still i come out back here in this world tormented by my own desire to push out more.
This character i describe is not all me but i am a good part of him. I have been down roads few men walk but i am not the only one, but unique, yes. I remember the numerous sweat lodge ceremonies i was in and the ones i performed when i was another person, a different entity and yet exactly who i am. Moments when happenings took place understood and accepted as real and verified in a truth undeniably real. The presence of ancestors teaching directly into mind with vision, song, drums and rattles. Spirits emanating in and out of reality, in and out of consciousness like air of winds of dimensions extraordinary.
These visions can not be described in words, in thought, in long explanations. Sometimes a poem can lead one to the door, to the gate, to an entrance but the mind must fall, surrender itself to the unknown, to the faith of earth, to love itself. This is where one is one and everything is related. This is where humanity is understood as one consciousness under one universe under the same direction in different minds. This is where love becomes known as the ultimate underlining force in everything described with many names but present beyond the known.
I write because i am driven by a force unknown…………in honour of the moment.
Images and Writing by Patrick Wey