Jack and Francis

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What kind of wind is that ? Tangled up in the sheets with Francis , Jack heard six peregrine falcons walking on his roof like chapters to the same novel waiting to come forth after that day of unexpected love when he took Francis for that ride with the little Hawaiian girl on the dashboard and a blowing snow smoked , creating landscapes of Kafka who never finished a novel . Blasts of arctic air , a cross-polar flow , has frozen over Grand Traverse Bay and left these Great Lakes 82% frozen , the region in the grips of an extreme anomalous weather pattern .

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A whirling wind , strong , laid itself inside her young body , spinning to keep the fetus from becoming stagnant in the pool of her living womb . The mothers silk slip abandoned on the bare floor as her pain was too much to remember what was needed to dress herself . It was a bizarre spring , the year of 1951 when RKO released the Sci-Fi film , ” The Thing From Another World ” about a crashed flying saucer and a body frozen in the ice , and Francis Camille DeKorne was born , born in the amniotic sac still intact . Her struggle begins like a Seneca legend in not wanting to be born again so soon after ascending into the other universe where ” love is all there is ” and where she was nearly obsessed with reading the encyclopedia of obsolete things . Fright frowned and was not letting her float . Her mother had a sickness inside , dripping blood while she slept , blood dripping , dripping out her nose , her ears , her gums leaving a stain on the white cotton pillow-case and on her upper lip , with blotches like a rash of scratched stickiness in her beautiful hair . Things were “out of order ” , over the edge , and the child would be poisoned by her mother’s confusion . The platelets of planet Earth , platelet counts falling so low that wounds seeped out , not only from the bottom of the oceans causing tsunamis and floodings but also into the fragrances intoxication from the flowers release and causing the earths creatures to become glutinous and fat from lapping up the large amounts of sap from the trees . The fungus that covers 38 acres in a forest in upper Michigan ; one of the largest forms of life known to exist and at least 1500 years old , began feeding on this new feast that the low platelets couldn’t stop , a feast of elements and dead roots with interweaving tentacles spawning an uncommonly huge amount of mushroom sprouts to rise and shoot to the surface above . And the Northwest Passage began an undistinguishable and curious conversation between its rivers and the freeways . Blood , milk , semen , wine , saliva … a benediction of tears and yes , things were out of order . And at this strange ” veiled birth ” of Francis , the babies cry like a canticle , ” O Lord , let me remember of where I came , of the dance of love . I don’t need eyes to understand or see , or eyes to keep your inner knowledge , let me not forget the key to the gate in the east . And please don’t let me write in the shadow of my own hand but in the clear light of yours . Tell them not to cry at my grave anymore , for I am not there .” The babies cry releasing a sacred mist of vapor , bending light rays that reached the north and south Manatou Islands where Native American spirits dwell creating odd and ever changing perceptions of castles , ruins , walls , tombs and towers …the islands themselves suddenly even vanishing from sight .

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No one saw the father , he had not returned from Detroit and the birth was early , the phone ringing lonely in the night , unanswered , while this salesman turns up the volume on his car radio and hears the ending line from that movie when the reporter files his “story of a lifetime ” , broadcasting a warning , ” Tell the world , tell this to everybody wherever they are . Watch the skies everywhere . Keep looking . Keep watching the skies ,” Everyone must be saved, the whole world , a world being made new , the bloody fire of a volcano spreading thru like lava , thru the tiny veins into the babies heart beating . Shades of warm purple in the atmosphere giving protection before anyone knew just what was happening . And one day , in the far future , a landscape painting would be recognized in the Van Goth Museum in Amsterdam as her great great great grandfathers , the babies heritage and memory imbedded in her unusual DNA from ages past before matters of race became Americas original sin . And one day too , Francis would still remember her perplexing birth – trying with all her strength not to be born , fighting , aching to remain in the warm fluid of her mother’s womb . A mother who would always love without ever understanding . And water , well , water would forever be her desire , the sound of it , it’s velvet , the taste of goodness as it touched her lips , the waves like worship her enthusiasm . A life flowing like a new paradise from Stings “Opera” as Jack holds her tighter, the scent of soda crackers warm from their naked entangled earthiness while the first falcon , its shadow grey , the same tone as the sky , soars in search of the super continent called Pangaea where the “Aurora Borealis” illuminates celestial travelers on their way to heaven , heaven , the well spring of the rarest things on earth … where Gods message is so brief that it goes on and on .

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Jack laid her down , he touched her skin . Behold the falcon and the dove . The baby in Francis’ dream that night wouldn’t awaken until Jack , appearing as a mirage , tells her to bring the little girl infant outside and let the raindrops fall , fall upon her tender body .

note : photo of wolf on bed by Sorolta Ban photography

26 thoughts on “Jack and Francis

  1. Another ethereal beauty, Meg. I loved the six peregrine falcons walking on the roof, the key to the east gate, the warm purple sky of protection. You describe worlds great enough for people to live in… They’re filled with a luminous grace. The sky is an amniotic fluid full of dream and connection. And in the middle of it all are beings who matter deeply to the whole of it…

    Michael

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    • Hi Michael …Jack ( my real love ) told me how he had once heard a big commotion on his roof and how upon discovery , they were the sounds of 6 crows walking …and then Laurent ( blogger friend ) was reading an old post of mine that I wrote on my birthday last year and I had mentioned an owl and Laurent informed me that my totem animal is a peregrine falcon …these 2 stories happening within moments of each other …and so the inspiration for my opening sentence .How gloriously beautiful that you see the sky as amniotic fluid and the beings as all of us , and that it all truly matters … my heart is so thankful for you Michael and your comments always so touching …love xxx meg

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      • Okay, so don’t feel as though an actual answer is the appropriate response, but I couldn’t help but be curious following your note here, about how close Meg and Francis are… Let me preface your answer by saying I’m nearly complete with a draft of a novel that may well require rewrites for the remainder of my early life, with a narrator named Vince, who is in hindsight probably far too obviously the peregrine falcon version of this crow named Michael… 🙂

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      • Thank you, Meg. I wish I had clicked over to read Hariod’s question before responding yesterday. I sensed there was something of the familiar in your characters and was curious what it was… I was wondering about the link between yourself and Francis, which I see now in your response to Hariod. Hariod put the words on something I couldn’t quite get onto the screen last night, about the way your prose blurs dreams and reality together. That aspect really speaks to me, perhaps because I’ve always felt myself that the “reality” you could write in the newspaper or tell your friends about, viewed in isolation, is an empty shell of sorts… Your prose has a way of infusing the life deeply into the place…

        Much Love
        Michael

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  2. An extraordinary collection of imagery once again dear Meg, woven together in one of your unique dreamscapes – tantalising, dancing lightly upon the grounds of any recognisable reality, yet reserved just as such innermost matters ought remain. May I ask of this fiction, are we considering here some part in which your real-life sister(?) is born, and that she truly did arrive in her amniotic sac? There was a story in the news only last week about such an event; did you read it? H ❤

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  3. Interesting. I’m interested in the concept of past lives too. I got a past life reading from someone once who said these, among other things, about me:

    “You are very unusual, Ryan, highly intuitive and psychic. You should be closely associated with those who study such phenomena from the spiritual viewpoint, rather than purely academically, as phenomena only. You are a dreamy soul and certainly should keep a dream journal: through your dreams, meditations and even daydream-reveries you have a natural mode of expression in which you can be a source of helpful guidance. Through recording your dream life you can warn and guide many other people, as well as yourself.

    You are highly emotional, almost obsessive at times, yet very calm at others. This shifting of feelings is rooted in your difficulty in seeing clearly where your emotions are involved. This can result in self-deception upon occasion, and should be balanced by a focus on spiritual principles and ideals rather than metaphysical ideas.

    While sincerity is a very important virtue to you, others do not always interpret your actions in this way. One reason for the disillusionment that comes with your likely conflict between integrity and deceitfulness is your tendency to be continually seeking that which is just beyond your grasp.

    While going even most of your life appearing to be peculiar to other people and rarely understood, you have exceptional spiritual insight concerning soul development in the earth plane. You are one whom others may be greatly benefited through their contact with you.

    …Above all, Ryan, your greater work this lifetime will then be in encouraging the weak and fainthearted, in giving courage and strength to those who have fallen off course and by making others aware of the Christ’s presence in them. By doing this, you may well finish your soul purpose this incarnation so that you will not need to return to the earth again.

    …Once you understand how to combine the privilege of being in a position of power with the aggressiveness needed to exercise your authority — without anger or selfishness — then you will do well to share through writing or lecturing what you have learned. You can also inspire and regenerate large numbers of people in their spiritual development by reminding them of their obligations from the perspective of their own unique ideals, which must be from their spiritual purpose.”

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