ayiti nou led, nou la [9]

ayiti nou led, nou la

a sudden release from earthen crust,
a magnitude of seven, that seismic
heave & catastrophic shake; a nation
displaced & existential point reached
when circumstance nearly overwhelms
a beleagured people’s spirit, rushing,
falling headlong to denouement; to
ayiti nou led, nou la.

chauffard, initial point of rupture, is
but ten miles south of pòtoprens, where
corpses barricade the boulevards &
death is vended off the streets. but out
of mountains of despair can be hewn
pillars of hope. a world is rushing to
her aid; hope rises above corruption in
ayiti nou led, nou la.

we can bury the dead & tend to the living,
heal the sick, feed the hungry. we can
minister to the poor; raise them up. we can
even level the cities & build them anew with
straight streets & caretakers, quakeproof
shelter & resolve – but can we answer the
ugly, perplexing questions regarding
ayiti nou led, nou la.

like why are her forests felled & why do
the rains steal precious topsoil from her
naked hillsides. why is farming now
impossible, driving the poor to city slums?
why is hunger rife & infant death so high?
why is access to clean water, sanitation so low?
where does the blame for this truly lie in
ayiti nou led, nou la?

plenty blame to spread around. to victims,
the seething poor, to ghostly local powers pillaging
the mechanisms of state. to yankee occupation,
to penetrating foreign capital repeatedly
raping a captive source of raw materials
in high demand; to mulattos, noirists &
indemnity – a potpourri of blame for
ayiti nou led, nou la!

©Joseph McNair;2010

abandonment issues (18)

abandonment issues

for sarah w. mcnair
1914-2000

that u’d leave me was my oldest fear;
with none to mind my urgent needs.
abandonment’s grip would rend & tear
the tissues of my attachment.

i’d panic when u were out of place,
naught but yr return consoled me.
i’d cling to yr skirts, bury my face
in the fabrics of yr presence.

security sedates. i felt safe
when i could see u, felt u near.
i welcomed yr nervous nurture’s chafe;
yr thereness in my figureground.

eventually, i learned to trust;
could leave u long enough to play
outside, go to school, or ride the bus --
assured of yr anxious waiting.

but how could i know, sweet mama dear,
my young chest pains were mostly yours;
the songs of yr loss, yr primal fear--
a sympathetic vibration.

nor did i know u’d birthed a son
& lost him to the reaper’s blade
that clove yr heart & left a wound
no subsequent child could ever heal.

i was told u raged against yr god,
yet mumbled not an anguished sound;
but withdrew instead behind a ward
of recurring catalepsy.

just a child was i & could not know
yr lingering grief was not some
failure on my part; some maiming blow
delivered by my trembling hand.

when i was but nine i saw u leave.
yr eyes were vacant; u were gone.
no more than a wraith, someone to grieve,
i’d watch u haunt our joyless home.

in the gloom of night u’d leave yr bed
to drift about from room to room
looking, listening u’d cock yr head
searching for yr lost attachments…

so soon they came to take u away
& lock u fast behind those walls,
an asylum’s taint & disarray
did mark u so indelibly.

& thus my heart knew a wound so fell;
a trauma to hold all others.
each hurt & loss that my stars foretell
gestate in this festering hole.

often gone u could not protect me:
from daddy’s grand expectations
from feeling less than or incomplete
from my real or imagined fear.

where were u: when ruben pissed on me;
when that white girl called me nigger?
when weird grownups looked at me funny?
when i peed in my pants in 2nd grade

because i was too afraid of my
teacher to ask to go to the bathroom?
i wanted to die, or run away…
or disappear.

where were u, mama , when i needed
to fight, kick ass, defend myself?
soon i stopped wondering; conceded
yr absences & remoteness.

left to my own devices i learned
deception, ruse, legerdemain --
the base coin of lying dearly earned
to create for myself a masque.

a masque to hide the face of my pain.
a totem to spook snap judgments,
& to spoof so much more than i’d deign
believe i could ever become.

that masque took on a life of its own,
made as it was from living stuff.
its purpose? to disguise & disown
hurt, fear & still-tender feelings.

& so began my self-sabotage,
mama – but u are not to blame.
though an easy target for my rage,
i am the one responsible.

to blame u for failed relationships
is disingenuous at best
control, abuse & my lying lips
drove most of my women away.

nor are u to blame for the choices,
the acts of self-betrayal that caused
me to cower before the voices
in my head –- that dread committee.

i chose to live in my head detached,
disconnected, vibrating
above my feelings. & i dispatched
any emotion that forestalled

my self-destructive ambition.
my hubris was without limit.
a measure in inverse proportion
to my lean & hungry selfsense.

in this time of reckoning, mama
i will not blame u. no villainess,
are u in my sordid drama,
just a woman living the blues.

u never put a drink in my hand,
& yet i became a hopeless drunk;
drunk on whiskey, adrenaline &
my whimsical cup of sorrow.

on my own i became addicted
to drugs, infatuation &
theatrics. wretched & conflicted
my masque slipped; my world surely broke.

all that i had ever thought, said or
done made my undoing certain.
the circle that began with desire
did not end in satiation;

did not close. i watched my life spill out;
powerless to occlude the flow.
yet in my darkest hour, turnabout –-
& a moment of clarity.

balance, mama, grows out of excess.
i came back from the edge of death
to live; face my fears, embrace success,
put conscience in perspective.

in the instance of my greatest loss,
in despair’s desolate spaces,
i redeemed my anguish; paid the cost
to refresh myself, be born anew,

rapt in spirit’s ecstatic whispers.
i felt the toxins drain away;
felt my anger, guilt & shame disburse
in day long hours & minutes.
.
i heard the voice of spirit say,
the past is ever wisdom’s foe;
look not u backwards, find yr way.
to peace in the eternal now.

in the now, in the now my truth
& glory ever. my fey soul:
did glimpse incontrovertible proof
of grace, synchronicity,

eternality -- evidence of
a silent witness in the heart,
unblemished by the malignant love
of intense emotional pain.

did glimpse in the heart a place of peace
where even an old god’s vengeance,
wrath & jealousy can never reach,
nor the troubling of the wicked.

in the moment, in the now, the path
to that heartplace is clear; access
is easy. i cannot help but laugh
at the irony, drollery --

the way to peace is through my heart wound:
through that pain which needs be embraced,
then let go. through once-lost-but-now-found
self-forgiveness that heals truly,

completely – that transfigures wholly!
through the veil of ego into
the mystery, into the holy
presence of the knower within.

that glimpse, mama, was what i needed
to take my life back; be at cause
rather than effect. i conceded,
then, my responsibility

to live life on its terms; to eschew
the outside fix for the inside
job. there have since been many new
looks & more expanded moments…

how i wish, mama, i could have told
u all of this while u yet lived.
but u left us just when we made bold
to believe yr frame immortal.

not that i didn’t try to absolve
u, forgive u or make amends.
i thought that we had much to resolve.
but u resisted all attempts.

blithe dementia made these issues moot,
‘til death came sweeping in yr room;
sent u through the gate of life in route
to a better understanding

bye & bye. so rest in blissful peace,
mama. i know we have nothing
to resolve. vesting all of my needs
in u was the act of a child.

looking outside myself for nurture,
validation, reassurance
was child’s play. my pursuit of pleasure
& power ignited my guilt;

forced me to abandon love. when i
was a child, like the apostle
i spoke, thought & reasoned childishly;
& long after my childhood’s end.

that child always needs a protector.
in truth, i’m a child no longer.
a point of light i am – a vector;
i’ve put away my childish things.

© Joseph McNair; 2009

stepping (17 )

stepping

14 years, 4 months 19 days
& counting

1
thirteen or so..
the alcohol consumed on that fated night
(that virus infects my memory still) moots
certainty.

i remember ...
thirteen drunks in a holding cell, just like me;
disreputable, derelict, powerless
just like me.

i saw my life...
its sorry reflection undistorted in
the funhouse mirrors of their faces. i was
one of them.

i was with them;
that jail cell, the narcotic spaces were but
some of the flagrantly normal structures on
my mindscape

epiphany..
a revelatory godtouch this; the truth
of my drinking revealed in a moment of
clarity.

i asked for help.
i beseeched god like one who begs a stranger –
a stranger who knows aught about me. then i
surrendered.

2
delusional...
incapable of resisting impulses;
obsessed by wide gates & glittering broadways –
was insane.

suicidal...
committing self-murder by installment;
shortening my demented life with each drunk –
was hopeless!

homicidal...
a drunken assassin, the car, my weapon
of choice, ill-contained my lethal, spiritless
animus.

in denial...
a sadly unmanageable melange of
grandiosity, anomie & spirit
disconnect.

vacuity...
self-loathing voided my stomach; leaving a
gaping, insatiable hole only love might
fill anew.

i prayed until...
god demurely came with sedate reserve &
sobriety; spiritus sanctus, blessed
quietness.

3
to everything ...
turn, turning -- i changed the basis of my life –
to god. psychic change came independent of
intention.

from sinking sand...
lifted he me from deflated ego's
living terror & my
less than adequate
personhood.

with tender hand...
his specializing power cleared the way back
from isolation through desolation to
sweet nurture.

on bended knees...
i made a decision to commit to a
future of right actions & choices. grace is
sufficient.

now, i'm ready...
to serve god & man; to labor in
consciousness, even beyond ordinary
transcendence.

watching my feet,
i let my prodigal faith look up the road.
faith fears not; scouts ahead -- while i attend to
my footwork.

4
with heavy heart
i catalogued the contents of my shadow –
old resentments packed away; the grotesque parts
of my self;

revisited
hurts inflicted by others, the rejections,
the criticisms, the disgrace, the threats to
my domain.

i conjured up
the faces i stamped on the randomness of
events. (i have always been competent in
placing blame).

i considered
the victims of my selfishness, my godplay,
my cruelty & vengeance yet afloat in
vision's wake.

i began to
sense patterns, attitudes, habits of mind that
could make automatic my flawed responses
to events.

precipitant,
self-will & negative thought filters had run
me afoul of friend, foe & stranger alike.
this, i wrote –

5
wrote the darkness
conscious. i took my writing to god, to heart.
i found a sober drunk, a friend & sponsor,
to talk to.

i read to him
my self-confession; told him of all my wrongs.
when i faltered from the weight of a secret,
he shared one –

one so debased,
so vile that it made my guilt seem second rate;
& then he yawned during the telling of my
deepest shame.

he heard me out;
showed me that the only consistent factor
in all my triumphs & tragedies was that
i was there.

he showed me that
shit happens, some events are random, unskilled
conduct offends & some people are sicker
than others.

my defenses
stripped away, i repossessed my shadow; stepped
inside, looked around. the darkness joked & my
sponsor laughed.

6
& afterward...
alone (save that my creator was near) &
at perfect peace, i really could look the world
in the eye

having revealed
& shared my anger fear guilt & shame, could i
release them, the pent up forces that they were,
willingly?

might i even
step clear of my practiced defenses & dare
to face people & events without ego
protection?

i am ashamed
to say how daunting it was (& is still) to
act in ways contrary to those tendencies,
those habits,

those character
flaws. each day did i labor, sometimes light,
sometimes heavy, to do some things different;
next right things.

when i rested
though, those shortcomings would come back like weeds;
i wondered if god really cared enough to
remove them.

7
i realized
after a short parenthesis that i was
willfully trying to make myself over.
god chuckled.

when i opened
up my heart, god's laughing grace, operating
therein, resonated in the space between
my heartbeats;

sounding the deep
reservoirs of spirit -- interior to
habit, to compulsion, to thought, to self.
god's spirit

working on me,
in me, even when i doubted; moistening
the dry interiors of ego -- keeping
it supple.

& then i knew ...
he surely would remove my shortcomings in
his time, at his pleasure & in the succor
of his love.

drawing mercy
& self-forgiveness from within, i trained -- to
act against compulsion is spiritual
aerobics.

8
made a list of
all those i had harmed; checked it twice, even thrice
then called again the friend who made me explore
my shadow.

could i do this?
could i move through my shame & self-loathing? could
i risk exposure? my sponsor thought i could;
said i must!

into my shadow
again i went. much less dense than before, i
could see so much clearer -- the relationships
i destroyed,

the deceptions,
sexual exploitation, controlling &
abuse; the dishonesty, breached agreements,
thoughtlessness.

some misdoings
were soaked in scotch, demon rum, cognac & beer.
others, though, bore the stench of drugs & instincts
run amok.

more important ...
i saw how my egocentric connections
to others left them at best angry, injured
& confused.

9
i saw the harm
i caused people, the damage done ... & sat me
down 'midst the wreckage. how could i possibly
pay for this?

was i willing
to yield not to dependence on shortcomings;
like i had surrendered my dependence on
alcohol.

was i willing
to make amends -- to take crucial action
appropriate & requisite to repair
the damage

caused by errant
self-will & noxious character defect. if
i opened wide my heart, could this shadow make
make me whole?

after careful
consideration, we picked from my list, my
sponsor & i, just a few of the wounded
to contact,

to arrange a
face to face meeting. i saw most of these -- those
who agreed. some i wrote letters, others i
put on hold

10
until i was
willing enough to treat with them. i made all
i saw or wrote know how wrong & sick i was;
how sorry.

i humbly made
restitution, reparations, recompense
for damage i caused & in that same process,
freed myself

from some guilt &
shame; freed myself to act independently
of my compulsions; freed myself to live
in a world

less than perfect
with woefully limited physical strength,
mental acuity & emotional
fortitude

but secure in
my connection to infinite reserves of
spiritual power if i just let god's
will be done.

so i review
most nights the deeds of the day. if i have harmed
anyone, i quickly try to make it right.
i'd rather

11
have a belly
full of accord than bloated with toxins of
angst, anger & acrimony. perhaps this
is god's will.

i am not sure...
so i pray, silently & aloud, asking
the good god of my understanding to
speak to me,

reveal that will
to me in ways in which i am familiar –
in the solicitous attentions of friends;
the message

repeated time
& again by disparate messengers; the
seamless ease in which events ebb & flow. god's
will disclosed

in the way that
new doors of opportunity open when
old familiar ones close; & in glimpses of
the wonder

between drifting
thoughts, in the space where my prayers are always
answered, where knowing comes without words, even
without thought.

12
have i had a
spiritual awakening, a psychic
change? my personality has certainly
been transformed.

i don't think the
way i used to, placing blame on everyone
but me; contrary & in collision with
everyone.

i am slower
to anger, much more patient & even more
considerate of others. i don't avoid
the hardships

& suffering
but embrace the fullness of being human;
nor do i have to drink or drug
anymore.

& the message
i carry? i've been delivered from bondage!
just like me, so u may also be, if u choose.
watch me step!

please step with me.
step into a faith that works. i like the way
u work it. never again will u have to
be alone!

© Joseph McNair;2009

after each season of sleep (31)

after each season of sleep

I
after each season of sleep
i am again born

a perennial:
renewing my need
for things,
predictable conclusions,
safety,
continuity;
being rigidly right.

after each season of sleep
i am again cast

in yesterday's
mold of belief:
compelled to
stubborn defenses, loneliness,
alienation;
am separate.

after each season of sleep
the me that surely dies

in bedtime slumber
reincarnates,
oblivious
to the past lives
discarded
day after day;
is powerless.

II
from the
chaotically sentient
dark

a tendril of
consciousness
breaks through,
reaches up,

strains
to embrace
the diaphaneity
of daylight

dance a fearful
tango, tarantella
& two-step
to melodies
darkened by
dominance, isolation
until heavy eyelids
close.

with trophy veil
in hand,
consciousness;
steals away,
withdraws
that another not
unlike but not the
same may come.

III
after each season of sleep,
an epistrophe:

repetitve
egospeak ending
successive stanzas
of somnus informs
daylight consciousness;
a vainglorious
somniloquy

after each season of sleep
there are moments
of clarity.
eternities of choice
gap instinct
& act; obsession
& compulsion,
fleeting, elusive;
divine.

after each season of sleep
an epiphany

awaits: in the
pauses between words,
in the spaces
'twixt thoughts; in the
deep feeling tones
that define the key
of being

after each season of sleep
is ever a chance
for surrender.

© Joseph McNair;2009

drunk on the nurturing feminine (30)

i am drunk on the nurturing feminine

1
i am drunk on the nurturing feminine.
if all-that-is truly favors fools & drunks,
then i am twice favored having traded strong
drink for another bittersweet intoxicant;
having surrendered to the goddess who
guides me –

the lithe & flowing kuan yin who
like the willow, gracefully bends
in the most ferocious storm, only
to spring back into shape again
when it passes –

through the chaos of my tumultuous loving
feelings –

the many-named isis, true wife,
tender mother, & beneficent
queen of nature, nimbused with
moral purity & mysterious
sanctity –

through my karmic mood swings which undo
my serenity –

yemọja/ọya/ọşun energies that
move me inward to source; move
me backward through my episodic past,
through soul shaking/shaping events
to breach into the now –

into the bosum of she who is clothed in
the sun –

the awareness of death whose winds
bear the promise of life & mortality,
reminding me of the changes that i
resist & gives me courage to make,

letting her light shine within me –

the erotic binder of atoms into
elements, gases into planets, males
& females into parents, families
& generations; the forces of expansion
& contraction into creation –

making me one of her own.

2
wary of pitfalls i have probed my past, hoping
to ward against false turns & wrong assumptions;
winnow out the fruitless & ephemeral, be
responsible for all of my truths. my self-definitions
ripped away; i have gazed
upon the vast, expanding emptiness

of my own vulnerability, have seen
what i cherish in my most sacred inner
spaces; learned what fills me with fear,
what moves me, what inspires me up
scale to unspeakable joy.

in the deep womb of self have i gone to dream,

sank into trance, had visions, received
insights washed in & out on psychic
tides, lived through deep mystical /
terrifying realities well beyond ordinary
& mundane senses.

perhaps i am too weary to exploit my gains, reap
my learnings;

am not totally healed from past blows;
from that last test of my soul's integrity,
when the sheath ‘tween self & unknown
was rent. maybe i need to wait & let this
relationship define itself.

no, my amorous nature would have me seize
the reins,

my sphinx-like steeds, chew on their bits,
anxious to lunge forward; be on their way
down love’s open road. a wild excitement
opens my nose, but i am yet wary, attentive
to the way ahead.

the wind blows into my face a triumphal feeling of
freedom

but my heart, many times wounded, reminds
me to have care; to attend to important details.
& overlook or minimize nothing where love
is concerned; to move slowly & deliberately
forward.

shall i give my steeds their heads?

3
i am loath to think that i am so miserly, like the man
clinging tight-fistedly to a few measly coins – one for
each antecedent wife, mate or long-time companion –
for fear, forgetting that one must give to get. am i
so truly poverty conscious where relationships are
concerned? where is my magical talisman for love?

perhaps my inner judge is too severe,
too steeped in self-criticism & self-doubt;
plays too freely over & over again in my head.
i shrink back from the enormity of challenge –
before pressing forward.

i can stall no longer. self-sovereignty must vanquish

self-limiting beliefs or habits & appearances;
too many unknowns are taking shape & my
skin, like parched ground, longs for a stormy,
wet caress. my lips, dry, cracked & sore
remember

the sweetness of other lips, large & soft,

that would rather kiss than talk; whose truth
lay in their titillating consecration of my body
with a viscous unguent that rouses ancient
memories – taking me beyond vaginal squeeze
& la petite mort’s unrestrained delight –

of the nexus, the energy source within that enables

the experience of a deeper love; that electrifies
& enkindles with sudden insight my wholeness,
my worthiness & divinity. where i go, usually
after intense & prolonged ego deflation, to
restore my soul.

& so I give in to the metaphorical chase wherein the thrill
of seduction lies:

the excitement of wanting & pursuing can give
an ephemeral satisfaction & i distracted, stumble
across stores of self-confidence & self-belief that
increase the likelihood of conquest. & so, into
infatuation’s gaping maw I jump

a capite ad calsem (from head to heel) – ad alta (to the

summit), ad astra (to the stars)… again!

© Joseph McNair;2009

touched by a goddess (29)

touched by a goddess

now it begins…

unless it doesn’t?

truths have finally been spoken, not in playful flirtations
or blown kisses with a “put that where u want it” wink or
in liquid bedroom eyes that beckon & promise, but in a
long probing conversation made all the more poignant by
trying to get the words out around hearts in our mouths.
in hours that seemed like minutes we talked of auguries
cast, numbers read, star charts delineated & consulted.
secrets were told & vetted, ghosts of old lovers in the
background given faces & names, names & faces.
u thought i needed to know about yr last one, a younger,
(more sinister?) version of myself. “i’ve moved on,”
u said, “at least in my mind.but i’m still a bit confused.”
(a pregnant pause seemed to lobby for time.)
i ignored the cold iron twisting knot in my belly & told
u about my yearlong “through with love” cloister &
short-lived warm-up before dating again – a whimsical,
half-hearted dalliance with a beautiful thirtysomething...
(i left unsaid the rest, hoping the silence would convey
what i dared not say)

& so it begins…

unless it doesn’t?

i’ve been touched by the goddess & the closer i get to
her, the less i reason & argue. i must wait, now, & listen
with ears, heart & soul. i must cultivate patience, for i
know that when i receive the goddess, this one or some
other, then all disturbing sounds – all reasoning & disputing;
all the unsettling noises that fear & loneliness make –
soften, get quiet & retreat.

©Joseph McNair; 2009

isis unveiled (28)

isis unveiled

wishes become real;

behold, the mistress of bees –

married & with child.

the goddess haloed by the radiant sun.
enthroned outdoors, she is a pregnant queen.
expectant mother of a god, she’s keen
to keep the hearth & nest; her veil undone
that he-who-soars-above can suck upon
her thaumaturgic breast & feed & ween
& grow to venge his sire & make things clean,
this falcon child whose eyes are moon & sun.
when sky & earth are wed, creation thrills;
the same when will & reason are conjoined.
all progeny thereof are thus enjoined
to bind to nature’s bones, in rocks & rills,
old set –who can be bound when he is named –
his power never broken merely tamed.

© Joseph McNair; 2009

reason can lift the priestess' ceil (27)

reason can lift the priestess’ veil

reason can lift the priestess’ veil
can scry the seal adorning nature’s breast,
when wed to intuition, strong & hale.

where quondam dabbling in the sacred fail
to bring acuity, with inner sight possessed,
reason can lift the priestess veil.

where insight often helps the will prevail,
is not then reason stronger? doubly blessed?
when wed to intuition, strong & hale?

the virgin priestess symbol tells the tale –
a coupling of matter & spirit. let the gods attest:
reason can lift the priestesss veil.

mind & sight may grasp the holy grail
when beheld through virtue’s lens. but reason is best
when wed to intuition, strong & hale.

what aids the seeker? what will avail?
none less than virgo’s gifting – her bequest.
reason can lift the priestess’ veil
when wed to intuition, strong & hale.

© Joseph McNair;2009