24—Goddess Rhythm
(After Inger Christensen)

By a trained mind (self-propelled, connected group of rolling stock)
using a succession of wave fronts, or oscillations, or
a - the trace of light created by a meteor falling thru the atmosphere,
system organizes itself, somehow takes
you witting or not as if you were train, b - the tail of a comet
"are you going w/ me?" she does not ask. She's
trying
to remain holistic, simultaneous, synthetic, concrete, trying to
reveal deities  in thunderheads,
the rhythm of her hips what makes walls shake, the
rhythm of the sway of her hips  is  motion  inherent @ the beginning
of  the  poem  process, creative process,   this is
the  story  of  how  a
universe     is   born,   are you listening?

In
the shift writing has created, so says Dr. Shlain
creation must crack thru the dried earth to tell non-linear
story must give up
first world, amniotic world  (in the mind,
there one needs to hatch).    This
is denoted by mostly
silence    (certainly no machines, barely heard whir of plane overhead)
then
come   those rhythms again, they instill & mystify your
patterns   become your myth become your gift your doom—salvation.

You have an inherent tendency to seek the hall, the trance, you
have an urge procreant.  It is a life-force seeking
access to the seeing world, world of letters, seeking
to allow your mundane sight bring mind as ally
a bit of work here where the train comes in the training, a
universe waits in recognition
that doppler sound
begins
to appear, a doppler of motion curves air. These waves
carry
you & the fledgling story into next realm will you ride them?   Ride
into
something unknown, perhaps the motion is straight into
that fear, giant & unwashed, into the shadow
you will find answers in the wound the womb you
would
never
have gone there on your own, yet she is w/ you. She has
been there & back looked God in the face
able to transfix  w/   her    hips    that     hipsway
to make the querent sleepy. Can you
see now or have you not heard the silence
or have you still a mind you wanna
write?

8.24.01  from Poems for the Millennium, Volume 2, pg 535