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An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness

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Craig Froman

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“Above this crystal pool are rows of lighted candles, flames flickering in the wind. Carved orange lanterns line the crags. O, ignisfatuus, foolish fire. O, the lantern in the mire. Spirits quaking with the light, demon darkness, far too bright. Orange whispers, yellow cries; ever-haunting, numb good-byes. Good-bye, O childhood; Farewell, my nickel joys.”

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Book:An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness
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“Daniel seems to rise above the moon with a brilliance in his eyes. He steps toward the sea and screams, more in defiance than rage. “Mortality; O wretched death and mortality! Decay is a demon dream, schemed in symmetry. O, that death crucified might halt its talons, for all will ascend from the grave! Remember the fallen, the slain; their dust is our foundation. Consider their suffering and pain; for there lies a new creation.”

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Book:An owl on the moon: A journal from the edge of darkness
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“Daniel? Daniel...of what use are the bones of saints? Of what great interest to me are their dusted stories of day?” I stand at a dreadful distance. He speaks, “Silent stones of granite hue; enveloped now in sacred dew. Speak somber words of restless hope... of resurrection.” I hear the hushings of the wind in a rhythmic silence, and turn to see a friar’s lantern on a distant ridge.”

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“Daniel,” I speak through weariness, “God has given me little hope and less strength. I hear only a voice saying ‘no’ from the wings of this circling stage.” “Ah, because we worship the gods of the arts in our wavering world; the mock souls and masked faces with painted-on peace. What do you expect of a forgery?” He pauses as he turns toward me. “Reality is no longer relevant.” Darkness chokes the moon as we rest on stirring sand.”

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“BLESSING FOR THE LIGHT I thank you, light, again, for helping me to find the outline of my daughter’s face, I thank you light, for the subtle way your merest touch gives shape to such things I could only learn to love through your delicate instruction, and I thank you, this morning waking again, most intimately and secretly for your visible invisibility, the way you make me look at the face of the world so that everything becomes an eye to everything else and so that strangely, I also see myself being seen, so that I can be born again in that sight, so that I can have this one other way along with every other way, to know that I am here.”

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