Tag Archives: Cherokee

Upon entering the all that might become

paths crossed (what might become) © 2016 Jered Dawnne

paths crossed (what might become) © 2016 Jered Dawnne

For years—decades, actually—I have been haunted by a phrase, “the all that never was”. Some of you will have seen it crop up from time to time. It’s relatively self-explanatory, and has stood for many things. It has drifted in and out of my writings, both prose and poetry, for the vast majority of those creative endeavors. Technically, in my head, it meant one precise thing, but as such phrases are for me, it had a facility and use that expanded well beyond its original meaning. It’s the kind of thing which, for a writer who rarely sets down the words which rattle about within his skull, haunts a person. That’s why I phrased the first sentence the way that I did. By “haunting”, I don’t mean, “occasionally comes up whenever I’m feeling nostalgic”. “Haunting” for me means that is has been part-and-parcel with every day, woven into dreams, and wrapped around every meditation—for longer than I care to consider, because most of that has been anything but healthy.

Slowly, that concept is turning over in my head. I’m not sure why this image is caught up in that, really, but it is. There was something about that day when this photograph was taken, and it wasn’t just the nuances of being in a new-to-me place and meeting new-to-me people. It was something more than that, perhaps just the getting out and doing, and the departure from more static patterns.

“The all that might become” is a thing both attached to, and filtered by “the all that never was”, but it is a brighter thing, a needed thing, an internal separation from that tendency to keep looking over my shoulder at all the things that didn’t go as hoped and planned.

Posted in lightwritten, variants Also tagged , , , , , , |

cadence of the long silences

cadence of the long silences © 2016 Jered Dawnne

cadence of the long silences © 2016 Jered Dawnne: a portion of the facade of the Donohoe Building at the Cherokee Mental Institute

movement
and the Tower, still
transfixed in winged progression
how a soul might fly

     had i known it then
     would i seek for misdirection
     would i yearn for something more
     than the sanctity of tears
     than the wisdom of darklight
     than the strength of unmended minds

Truth
no other vision grows
Star, and its quiescence
the pure and the strong
bereaved in Transformations
that Tower still enthroned
and the multiverse implodes

     had i known it then
     would any of this matter
     would this emptiness still cling
     to the relevance of fear
     to this constant wondering
     to the coldness of broken minds

Moon’s light
above the Tower burning
transfigured in procession
now a soul does fly

=============
cadence of the long silences © 2016 Jered Dawnne
a variation of “Interim: A Requiem” © 1990.09.05 Jered Dawnne, published 1993 in “The Sabre”

Posted in lightwritten Also tagged , , , , |

of moments lost within minds gone elsewhere

linear recursions (drained) © 2016 Jered Dawnne

linear recursions (drained) © 2016 Jered Dawnne

there is a pattern to our incarnations which we rarely perceive, let alone understand. we revolve around each other in sliding spirals, sometimes within each other’s view, but more often not. seldom do we understand what we see within our own reflections, and when those reflections are from within someone else’s eyes, there comes a type of hypnotism of the self. usually, there is only room for conjecture in the spaces between our lives, but sometimes, those interactions create a closeness that is difficult to explain.

and then, they happen in places like this.

it really isn’t that odd for something to begin to grow in a place where so much has been lost. but when it happens, it forms a certain type of unity that will be difficult to unravel.

not that you’d ever want it to.

Posted in lightwritten, variants Also tagged , , , , , , |

atramentous detachment

atramentous detachment © 2016 Jered Dawnne

atramentous detachment © 2016 Jered Dawnne

one of the things i did this past weekend was wander around a couple of abandoned buildings on the grounds of the Cherokee Mental Health Institute. it had been a very long while since i had satisfied any sort of morbid curiosity, so this was actually a rather conflictive thing for me, internally. something my adoptive parents probably never knew about me was my fascination with abandoned buildings as well as new construction sites: the places i actually went when i skipped out at night. the inherent disparity between such things forms its own gravity, so they sit in the same place in my head. i love the way my brain pushes and pulls me in places like this. visiting here this past Sunday conjured many old memories that hadn’t surfaced in decades, all while making some new ones. it was a heady end to a very nice weekend.

this is the lobby of the old Donohoe building. some topological research online suggests that this was a prison building, which is somewhat substantiated by the thick-grilled, small-paned windows around the exterior. i deliberately captured the small fireplace in the lobby with the lens tilted off the dirty glass to include the early-afternoon reflection of the pillars and trees outside: a mix of the dismal, dark, decaying interior, and the taunting promise of a freedom just out of reach. there was no way not to wonder about the people who had been in and out of there: what caused them to be there, what they experienced, what they did.

i would love/hate to actually tour the interiors and the tunnels between these buildings. their histories, especially apparently from the 1960’s and 70’s, infer violences left seething, sorrows left mourning, and the conflicted fears of being released and being left behind. but when i visit these places where so many dreams have died, i am reminded of the relative ease of my own life, even when the moments are rough and the nights are long and broken and void; so my transient love of life returns for a while, and i am whole again.

Posted in lightwritten Also tagged , , , , , , , , , , |