Eric Wolfram's Writing, We'd


By Eric Wolfram

We'd slow down to the pace of the sky, river, and gentle breeze -- to the pace the sun and moon -- to the pace of the trees and plants growing. We'd hear the crickets and humming birds fly. We'd listen to the frogs and robins cry. We'd see the deer down the ridge running and watch the lizards and turtles sunning. We'd perceive the rabbits and the trout jumping; fifty hearts were creating.

Fifty gentle souls by a river, we'd sit and dance and smoke then swim. Then we'd eat and sleep and smoke and sing then swim again. Or we'd sing sleep eat dance swim then smoke and sing again. We'd do it at our own pace. We'd let go of time.

We'd breathe the magic dust which settled in valley sands where we slept. We'd walk around in love and contentment -- sharing. Or we'd drift down the river in rafts, passing weed and glances while watching rehearsals. We'd all be in denial about leaving. Nothing existed except the moment. Wild turkey wondered aimlessly -- both on foot and in bottles. Bats and bugs flew harmlessly at night.

We'd swim in Captain America costumes or in lizard leotards with wings. We'd dress in drag and get ferried down stream on rubber rafts like river queens. We'd wear wigs and pretend to be Auntie Svinkter or sit in the shade with five guitars in tune and play Cole Porter songs and sing.

We'd cover our skins with wet sticky mud and then roll in a pile of dry hot pebbles. We'd run down the hill weighted with rock armor and jump in the river. We'd feel the pebbles wash away and watch the water brown around us.

We'd perceive the ample bosom of skinny dipping women. We'd join them blue lagoon style -- willies in the wind. We'd jump from giant boulders into cool clear green water. We'd dive to the bottom and try and swim across without breathing. We'd float like alligators in the reeds. We'd watch bugs walk on water.

We'd watch the darkness over take the valley. We'd perform on the stage that was made for us to play on. We'd shine lights across the river bank and make giant shadow puppets on the cliff. We'd dance and sing and act for each other. We'd laugh and smile - perm-a-smile. We'd heckle and mock. We'd join in the fun.

We'd stare into the endless stars and wonder what was in the night looking down at us in wonder. We'd find the milky way and big dipper and the north star and ORyan. We'd fall asleep talking and wake up to the heat of the sun.

We'd have fruit and coffee, bagels and jam, and granola and rice milk. We'd sit together in silent meditation. We'd stand in the sand and face the sun. We'd come alive together. We'd make the webs of our fingers kiss. We'd hold hands and rock the skin between them gently -- one by one. We'd squeeze each knuckle and pull and twist each finger softly. We'd pull them backwards toward the ground to stretch our wrists. We'd shake them. We'd let our arms fall with the weight of our hands. We'd rub and stretch our arms and elbows and shoulders. We'd reach our finger tips toward the sky together silently.

We'd explore the bones of our faces with them. We'd yawn and made circles around our eyes with them. We'd push our eyes into our sockets and pull them out again. We'd cough and clear our throats and yawn again. We'd massage the ridges of our eye brows, our foreheads, and hairlines, and the tops of our head. We'd pull open the plates of our skulls, and let our energy explode into the sky.

We'd rub circles on our temples and find the points where our spines meet our heads. We'd find pleasure places behind our ears and spend plenty of time tickling there. We'd pull our ears and make circular motions with them. We'd do that and roll our eyes and yawn and touch our tongue to the tops of our mouths all at the same time. We'd push and bend the cartilage in our noses. We'd pull on our lips -- bottom then top -- like a platypus. We'd rock our jaws, roll our necks, and rub the flesh around our throats submissively.

We'd pock the tops of our heads with our fingers. We'd use the weight of our hands falling. Pock pock pock -- one by one. We'd do this and yawn -- everyone together. We'd pock our chests. We'd clear our throats again -- and yawn or sneeze or do what ever we felt like we needed to do. We rubbed our solar plexus -- we'd pull them open. Our fingers found the ridges in our collar bones and the groves between each rib. We'd pock our stomach and intestine -- and we wouldn't if there was any pain. We'd bend forward and pock our kidneys. We'd lie on or stomachs and give ourselves a spanking. We'd sit up and rub our legs.

We'd group around a center circle like a primitive tribe would praying. We'd breath slow and deep like the Nile. In and out. We'd fill our lungs and visualize each of our five sacks filling -- two hundred and fifty sacks in all. We'd exhale. We'd create wind with our breath. Again and again together. First slow, then sharp fast and noisy -- HA -- HA -- HA. We'd do that while pocking our heads, chest, and gut again -- H(pock)A -- H(pock)A -- H(pock)A.

We'd sit and make circular motions with our rib cages, to move our spines and organs gently. We'd lie on our backs and rock our pelvis. We'd massage the gluteus, the soaz, the sacrum, and the tendons around the anterior superior iliac spine. We'd bend our knees and pluck our hamstrings. We'd play them like a harp. We'd kneed our quads. We'd rub the backs of our knees and move our caps. We'd make circular motions with our legs -- like skiers -- to free them. We'd rub the top and bottom of our calves. We'd push energy down our Achilles. We'd free our heals from our ankles with small circles.

We'd wash each others feet. We'd pull each toe. We'd move each toe to stretch the web between them. We'd twist each metatarsal and tarsal. We'd move each knuckle and rub the bottom of our arches. And we'd put our feet together. We pretended we were seeds that fell together. We'd grow into plants and trees together. We'd lean on each other.

We'd snooze in white hammocks and whisper loving words with angles laughing at all our jokes. We'd watch the little Buddha baby -- so young -- so enlightened. We'd watch her understand when she has yet to speak. We'd watch her listen.

We'd play Bach, Gutherie, and Gershwin on guitar; and Sinatra, Beatles, and The Cure. We'd play Johnny Carson on the stereo, and songs like Rolling on the River, One Tin Soldier and Harper Valley PTA. We'd create water ballets with naked women. We'd all gather around the fire to listen. We'd paint little water color paintings and give them to each other. We'd help each other drink water when we'd been out in the sun too long or when we'd drunken too much margarita in the morning or when we'd eaten a hash brownie and had to puke. We'd give hugs that lasted for minutes, stare unbashfully into each others eyes, and fall asleep together under the stars. Fifty lucky souls by a river. No one was ready to leave when we did. We'd cry together because of it.

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