WILD ONE by Paul Swatridge
(Record of a dream, written on a train, given to a stranger)
I live, I am alive,
but forget to remember this.
So now, knowing it, I celebrate,
defying the numbness of my other life.
In my dream I glow
and move with a singing vibrancy.
I flow, with the current of life
volting through my veins.
And now I see myself flesh-bare,
dancing the celebration of my sex.
In my power I stand,
proud at last of my priapic energy.
Not hunter, nor hunted, yet
grasping the emblems of my strength,
bow and spear, tight bound and thonged,
spliced, beaded, and bedecked.
I feel my centre low;
steel in my guts and feet rooted to the earth,
I am connected to all beings now
and dance the universal dance.
I reach back in time
to primitive man whose leathered feet
trod the very earth I now tread.
These sacred rocks beneath our fragile soles.
We are one spirit, he and I;
my moment of freedom
from the yoke of modern life;
open to forces my mind cannot grasp.
The wild calls me, and
I respond as if to a lover
for whom I yearn without and within.
A wisdom only now revealed.