spring, I was fortunate enough to journey to Europe. Although pilgrimage
isnt exactly the right word, its the closest approximation
to how I felt about going to Stonehenge it was a spiritual Must,
a command, and I didnt even know it until after I left. I can never
describe it, but here are some of the words Ive used to attempt
to recapture the spirit I felt. The prose blocks were written recently,
in retrospect. When the words just sort of sit on the page, trying not
to fall off thats from when I was there, on the first of June,
two thousand and one.
I dont know how large Stonehenge is in measurement words, so lets
call it fifty feet diameter respectably large, but not overwhelmingly
huge on a purely physical level. In the rolling English countryside, picture
a cylinder made of solid stone, fifty feet diameter, that starts roughly
at the center of the earth and reaches up through the sky to that place
in between the atmosphere and space, where the spirits in the sky tend
to dwell. Feel the solidness, the Weight, the unadulterated mass of stone
stretching for infinity. Now take away the pillar and leave only a circle
of stones on the barest surface of the Earth. Thats a little bit
of what Stonehenge feels like.
Like every molecule you breathe, every molecule in your body, is covalently
Bound to a molecule of Stonehenge. Your blood is full of hemoglobin-Stonehenge,
and its trying to function with this new weight. You breathe in
oxygen-Stonehenge and struggle to exhale carbon dioxide-Stonehenge. Your
lungs are FILLED with it, your inner body coated. The grass is specifically
adapted to carry the extra weight, the flowers integrate this extra power.
You cannot. You can only stare and try to breathe and obey the little
rope that says oh no, dont go too near, and you wish as you never
have before that you were one of the birds keeping vigil Inside the circle.
Weight. Like posts
of thunder into the ground.
The petrified trees of life.
Doorways to the gods.
It booms with holy
A five thousand
year old bass line:
You get me closer
My body tingles.
Eyes closed. I salivate.
softly buy firmly.
To touch one would
be to touch the ancient tree but exponential.
It calls to me. If I were alone, Id run to it. My stomach feels
Everything in me feels it.
Five thousand years,
but it was old when they built it.
It makes the air heavy,
saturated with rock molecules.
The air is full of the rocks, the energy.
My teeth tingle.
I am glued to this spot,
the words keep flowing.
Ill never feel like this again.
They are oblivious to us
inside their world, it is dark, stormy.
In their world, Druids still chant.
The Stones care to know nothing of us.
To go inside that circle...
Ill never know what its like.
Maybe thats for the better.
What would I do if I were wrong?
What if I were right?
Its a nexus, crackling, a
story dying to happen.
It is SO OLD.
Im searching to connect it to history,
but it wont.
Its not big bang old or primordial ooze old.
Its spiritually old, energy old,
we dont have a history for it yet.
The birds are techno-chirping, echoing.
Black birds, playing in the Stones.
I keep salivating.
My body tastes something.
I am attracted in every way to it.
But I cant go in.
And what would I do if I could?
I thought I couldnt bring it with me, but I can. Its still
here, inside me. I hope it stays, that my normal wordsmithing will only
scrabble for coherence, pleading to be let in, to be able to communicate,
and will forever be lacking, because this is the farthest beyond words
Ive ever been. Im still speechless when people ask me, What
was it like? Its like nothing. It Is. Its always
Been. Its the reason for the verb To Be.
Its the spiritual pressure of the bottom of the ocean. It presses,
imposes its weight, and wouldnt it be interesting to open the hatch,
and let the ocean In...
POETRY & STORIES