Page 14 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. IV #10

CAitlin e. KrAuse
Hearing
My figure is dreaming while I am awake...
This would not be possible without that, we un- derstand...at which we smile, imagining it a game of marbles. One looks like the earth, all blue- green planaria swirl under glass. We want it.
I am near a border, where everything borders on the edge of something that is real; something that is a dream. The crossing point, where the tree has roots and also a trunk, and something pulls as the other pushes. There are branches in both directions.
The battle cry is mute. There is no drum to march to. The orchestra fell silent centuries ago. I can- not make a violin. I play the silent strings. Wait, wait. I cannot play the strings, either! I cannot even listen. That soft word, listen, as in when my head presses the pillow at night, and think I hear my own blood; my pulse. The beat of my heart.
How can I pinpoint potentials? They are realized in every turn of a leaf, its look, one side
glossed, and the other, veined, drinking from the land. The leaves form papery palimpsest flags, waving in the breeze as I pass!
I am a product of centuries, and my ears have already closed–see, there, the pale, delicate layer of skin, with slight depression, marking the space. I cannot truly hear anymore, as they used to call it. The sound I imagine could be one faint pulse, lightly tap, tap, tapping on the skin of a drum, at night with the windows open, as I am at that edge, that border, about to sleep, yet I’m still awake.
Everything from the land calls out, ready to tell some sort of story, yet we humans don’t listen anymore. Our ears, actually, have become unnec- essary. We’ve already stopped listening to each other, too. Whaaaaattttt? we say, not ask, but say, because we have adapted, oh marvelous brave new world with its creatures that can adapt, ad- just and change, and here we are, questioning as always, with the ability to destroy our selves forever.
Even I cannot tell if these signs are truth, harbin- ger, whispered memory, or nothing at all...
We always knew it was possible. Will it be a tragic decadence, looking back (too late!) as we imag- ine our hopeful past selves crossing the gleaming seas? Could one envision spending one’s life to cross an ocean, to chart a map? Did those an- cient explorers know what paths they marked, what stones they laid? Perhaps not. They looked to the stars.
Krause is a global innovation leader, international speaker, writer, artist, mindfulness consultant, coach, educator; promotes interdisciplinary learning, STEAM innovation and design thinking strategies; passionate about learning and interactive expressive technologies and media, including photography and multimedia art.
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