Wuxia Honourably Armed

The edge of the bamboo grove is still the eye of the storm spinning roulette in my crown caravan wheels … I sit on Tara’s throne in the cup of a lotus blossom and wait … it has been two thousand years since my oath was taken … it has been only six days since the last battle was waged … my wounds are healing … the rainbow comes each morning to nurture me in the colors given by the master of creation … at times there are seven shades … at others seventy hues of the heavens … yet, more warriors than not can only perceive The Absence or The Light … I soak in the Rain of the Father who brought these children … his Bride nurses my wounds with her herbs and spittle … All is silent in this glimpse beyond witnessing … my construct of sheltered shamelessness … where the voices of the atmosphere are all one hears … until it is time again to listen for the whimpering of battle … to engage … until slightness perceives a wrestling along the lines of demarcation … between peace and those who cannot surrender their slit soaked war … I am honorably armed and thus, I rise to bear the sword of my soul once again … blood thirst emotion not yet mastered … my humans unable to lie down the spear and saber even when the helpless slaughtered can be seen … I seek them beyound the gates of illusion … their Nirvana hidden in the storm clouds the bamboo grove swirls beneath … I face the Void wuxia as was the Buddha.

© C.D.D.AllRightsReserved


#NaPoWriMo 12

The dit diddy datts of night’s cool rains have only just begun to create their jazzy improvisations … in sky lights streaking shaft hot tongues towards iron and copper Earth golems … afternoon was blessed warm and the Sun met the lake with joyous play … it was the eagles’ first sighting of Floating Fox since the thaw of last winter’s crystal coma … his strength was apparent in both his ability to churn up the muddy bank and in the vibrancy of his colors … he is now larger than any channel cat which dares swim in his school … he is the master of these waters now … they follow where he flows in reverence, not obedience … the black of his koi legacy is far deeper ink than any of their native Mississippi ghost grey skins … he is golden and marigold~orange with fire … and to them, he must be surely be, the samurai fish come from legends told from the boat himself …  Blue Ictalurus of the Small Waters … he had witnessed such koi in the ancient spring pond … from here his  father’s fathers came… the old waters above the new born lake in which they all swam together now … it was foretold one day an eagle would succeed in stealing Floating Fox from his spawn and spread …  to this day not one mighty enough had come to bear a white head so fierce they could pierce the dragon scales of this other worldly warrior … nor were they a match for him in mid air combat when the sharp talons of his whiskers stung them venomously … and the beating of his mighty tail fins sent them into a downward spiraling  retreat …

 #NaPoWriMo 12
 © 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved