The only activity worth doing last Friday was watching Endeavour, a friendly celebrity flying low (1500 feet) to greet adoring fans from near and far, travel the skies. I was moved beyond belief and expectation to tears; my emotions shuddering inside of me as the modified Boeing 747 and its precious shuttle-cargo passed overhead. A side shot would have been nice, but I settled for what I could get, and vowed to eventually buy a longer lens, since it would have been incredible to get orgasmically close (even via expensive glass) to the star-rubbing beast.
Since I seem to have lost my words lately, I am relying on an unedited poem from my past to convey the power and mystery of Friday’s historic moment:
3/11/97 – Inspired by Pablo Neruda, among other things…
Dragons
There are moments, like pregnant pauses
When white dragons rise to the surface
Unnoticed yet fully realized and threatening
Groaning like a half-eaten mouse
He knows only that he senses something
Her thick lips refuse to speak
Uttering inane phrases to engage his wit
And literary ploys to unnerve his instincts
She strengthens her resolve not to crumble
Smiling all the while at her power
She chases fear with sweet red wine
A most clever elixir of disharmony
Wild, wild woman, untamed by sweetness
Hard won by human beauty
She travels alone, sometimes lonely
Hunt, kill, hunt, kill, hunt, kill, hunt, kill
Smiling while laughing, she attacks
As if he doesn’t know he’s a victim
Ravenous soon after, she feeds in her sleep
On the ruination of the kill, the nourishment
That stokes the pang familiar
Angst rising in her haunches, she eludes the pain
Carrying on as if nothing has happened
To the pristine soul of the untainted girl
It is inapt to deliver wintry anger
Or unleash it in the very pleasure
That created it, two-faced monster
She cavorts demurely with eyes that
Tell one hundred stories, none of them true
All of them honest
She doesn’t belong here; stagnant
She doesn’t belong there; unworthy
Where? Where then?
Leaping toward the chasm, she lands
Hard but safe, alone yet aware
There is more to do than lick her wounds
No time to waste. Red soul is pleading
She must embrace the Scylla inside the wolf
Or risk the slow and painful death of apathy
But there are moments, like pregnant pauses
When white dragons bow their heads and moan
Defeated by love, a power no adversity can quench
I’m so jealous that you got to see that amazing vision. I’m sure I would have cried, too. Despite all our faults, that vision is why America is still the cool kid on the block. My God — what we are capable of. And speaking of that, your poem is powerful and exquisite, just like its author.
I love your perspective: “what we are capable of,” and find these words to be exactly what I need today. Thank you for your support and inspiration Jayne.
I love that you committed poetry to depict the ineffable. I’ve done the same thing when words couldn’t convey a mystery, a moment sublime. That ending is powerful, but so was all the imagery throughout.
Yes, it was wordless power…a moment in time forever etched inside me.
Hey Britt! This must have been awesome! I often wanted to watch a shuttle launch in person, tho I watched the first on TV and its return a few days later; I’ve never forgotten. Thanks for sharing these photos. Indigo x
Oh I wish my photos had turned out better, but I’m grateful just to have been there!