(From a Trip To Big Bend in West Texas, On New Year's Eve)


A rock shaped like a house, found in the mountains

The aborigines of Western Australia believe that the

waking life is an illusion,

so they dwell inside of their dreams.

The Sephardic Jews of the 16th Century were driven from Spain,

and though they could not find a place to sleep,

they found sanctuary within their hope.

The gypsies of the world continually cross the borders

of several states and countries,

but they feel settled in the tribe they move with.

The birds of many species soar through several skies

and sleep in various branches,

but can only thrive in weather that suits their needs.

The exiled writers of various countries believe

less in the land beneath their feet,

and more in the paper that bears their words.

The frontiersman of the state of Texas continued to

explore the flat land,

though the memory of the mountains

never left their bones.

Musicians of all disciplines, travel the world in search of sounds,

though their only shelter may be

within the music that emanates from their souls.

This rock that I hold in my hands, has fallen from the

heights of the mountain I climb;

In its stillness, I am home.

* * *
 
I am climbing a mountain my own way,


marking the rocks with my feet,

toppling corners,

avoiding the spines of bushes so vast,

they could pierce through my body and upwards into the sky.

I breathe with my mouth open, like the antelope,

who moves without pause,

steady with purpose towards his prey.

But I am chasing my own demons,

who were once chasing me.

On this mountain, there is no one to warn me of my fall,

only my dreams of descent,

only my hands that hold on and pull me up out of myself.

Out of a mind that would destroy me,

and into a body that will carry me towards ecstasy.

* * *

It is my mind, more than it is a mountain.

It is small in my eyes and I can push it aside.

It is large and I cannot control it.

It has its way with me as I climb,

scratching my hands, cutting my feet.

It wants me to conquer it.

It wants to defeat me.

It is my mind, more than it is a mountain.


Elizabeth Dañiel Marquis~Mayorca


Princess of Katmandu


Every time I get tired of walking

I just think about the Princess of Katmandu

who is carried from place to place

carried above sea

carried above sand

carried above her homeland

with her feet bound,

so that they never touch the ground,

so that they never make a sound.

Feet that can not breathe

Feet that cannot feel

Feet that are no more real

than porcelain kept in a glass case.

Though they say her feet are the most beautiful

of all the women in town,

her life must be dull.

No matter the rule

there are times when a woman must be put down.

Her feet can have no more grace,

than a face that has never seen the sun,

and are more likely to be deformed.

I have been warned.

Now when I get tired of walking

I run.

And when I am done with sighing

I dream that I am flying.
 
EDM