power animals

“If we quit Vietnam, tomorrow we’ll be fighting in Hawaii, and next week we’ll have to fight in San Francisco.” -Lyndon B. Johnson

—and so my Shaman played her drum—and so I—flat on my back—head facing her beating—the air vibrating my scalp—only to feel myself curling, folding up from my toes, folding up into just the drumming—vibration matched with parallel silence—nothing, emptiness, and the drumming like my heart beat—mother’s heart beat—womb­—until the drumming soon faded—melted—blended into waves: body sensations, emotions, memory flashes—sound foundation—drum-drum-drum-drum-drum-drum-drum—now graveled—like guttural moans and struggles to breath—or to scream—my mind whispered—like my mother—like my mother struggling to scream for me—for me to help her—oh god—please—help—me—Charlie!—and my father cackling—eyes wide—blank absent—hysterical laughter spitting “jungle!” and “gooks!”—tongue wagging pupils fully dilated—gaping black holes of frightened animal panic—with his right foot firmly planted on my mother’s throat—strangling the life—strangling the look on her face—strangling her skin to beige azure­—as her eyes blankly bulged from the shock—the screaming stare of a pleading desperate animal dying—

dedicated to my dearly departed Shaman friend,
and teacher, Jyoti Crystal. May she have a good journey.

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