Frank Remus

My Red Fool Loves Her Black Trickster.

The air was cool and breezy. The warmth of the sun was welcome. The shimmering tree, with its majestic weight and depth, was waving goodbye to a crow, silently heading west. In that same moment, a gorgeous crow flapped steadily over my head -so low and so close. I heard the beating of her wings in the silence, and I was blessed in that moment. Two pigeons landed on the roof ledge, wooing and preening and pecking. I could see they were looking for the large pool of water that form on the rooftop after rain. In this, Iâ€™m in love with Anna.

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Skies were baby blue and mature filling up with large tufts of low fluffy cloudÂ on one plane. They wereÂ flattened at the bottom. The mountain was in shadow. It gradually lit up, as the sun appeared at the right angle. The speed of clouds was very slow. The pigeon coupleÂ ventured together to what was left of the pool. I heard their talons crackle in the wet gravel.Â Shadows were long and at sharp angles. The cold breeze picked up and trees rustled.Â A distant siren approached, as I woke up for recovering. More sirens joined in. They must have been going down the Decarie expressway.

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Low clouds were beautifully shaded â€“a gigantic feast for the eye. The reality of it was this: thereÂ was no further outside â€“unless you meant outer space. But then, there is inner space -in the imagination, at least. It is the imagination that sets us free to express what cannot be seen. Waking up from dreams to find anÂ empty spaceÂ I could travel through. The electronic motor symphonyÂ playedÂ as I floated inÂ the roomÂ -to see my former wife and my baby and myself in bed sleeping peacefully…Â Not tearing down the people, but to be compelled with an artistâ€™s vision â€“that he or she sees without substance, except for the inner screen. To make that vision come to life is the magical power of the imagination.Â Iâ€™m in love with Anna in this.

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If the mind could conceive of itsÂ utter destruction -inwardly as in Buddhism, or inÂ the gross form found in terrorism of the world â€“which is what is presently happening â€“then, we can use a little moderationÂ and adjustment toÂ conceive of a healthier world. If we’ve got the power toÂ go down -Â and we certainly can go down, then why not go up? The wider range is always more interesting.Â The whole range is needed, not justÂ the destructive end. We have got no chance to know if there are permanent deathless beings on the planet. I know something about how life can be.Â Â Some kind of inner destruction needs to be destroyed.Â In the effort we make toward understanding â€“understanding no matter how near and how far,Â includes theÂ understanding ofÂ our beloved.Â I love her so. To be totally committed to freedom for our deeper understanding together.Â Â It is a mystery deep and wide.Â Iâ€™m in love with Anna in this.

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Trees were well lit and in shadows. They were making me feel religious â€“any manmade thing for worship became a pale example. The light was supremely esthetic, from high art that transcends everything ever made. The making is actual and real. My sensations jived in subtle ways, and I was seized with emotion, from the blessing to be alive. I could see it no other way â€“we were meant to enjoy this Earth. But for some reason we are forced not to, and prevented andÂ must learn about our own self-destruction. “Die before you die” the Sufi said. And I wondered where all of the Sufis went. Reality is very blurred. This is only a glimpseÂ at the truth.

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Low-lying clouds wereÂ like massive dinner plates on an endless conveyer belt for soaking and then for refilling. Two lovebirds fluttered by with the sweetest of sounds. A crow cawed and was silent. Trees gently rustled. The sun came out warming me up and giving my hand shadow on this love diary for my soulmate. Four blackbirds sped past like a shot. The shimmering tree rippled like a million fluttering butterflies. And in this, Iâ€™m in love with Anna. MyÂ skull loves her skeketon. My crocodile loves her shark. My atomic explosion loves her cataclysm. My hurricane loves her tornado. My ice broken loves her fire. My vessel broken loves her balloons bursting. My fool loves her trickster.

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My boat sinking loves her tidal wave. My red loves her black. My goat eating anything loves her worm. My broken window loves her garbage. My bricks scattered love her fist through the wall. My burglar loves her breaking in. My mirror broken loves her shards. My death loves her warrior. My military loves her war. My evil figures love her vampire. My fate loves her destiny. My lethal loves her deadly. My decomposing loves her catabolic. My demolishing loves her dismantling. My doom loves her despair. My crash loves her smashing. My misfortune loves her overturning. My power loves her will. I love her black lunar bible verse, “He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.” Isaiah 40:29. I love Anna Dirksen.

Destroying

Relating

I love Anna Dirksen.

My Red Fool Loves Her Black Trickster.

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