Dave Warren
Illustration by Rayaan Cassiem. Found on kagablog.
Rape of the Nation State
Often I ask myself,
from where in me is the umbilical,
that like a ripcord turns me into a metamorphosed self,
what remains captive and marked by the old world inscriptions
bored and branded upon our infant flesh?
it is a wanton conscription upon the wondrous blue gaze
of the cherub child beholding the deep blue of the sky and the moon hanging there…….
what form of nation/ state rape begins then,
when does the great disremembering begin?
when does citizen virtue displace the great cathexis with the womb of the earth, chasing away the nymphs of the whispering forest,
the shamanic anointed rites,
the songs that come from the tap root?
how do we labor again to be born self consciously,
to be present at one’s rebirth,
to knowingly caress the brines and divine lubricants as we pass full eyed open through the enveloping walls nurtured by the Great Femin
How do we slough off this this, our true original sin inherited through the learned, encultured memes, the code we are steeped in keeping us from our selves becoming.
How do we even know we are captive?
How do we know that what we hold as “normal” , “accepted”
“the way things are” is an ever deepening psychopathy?
please, from a clearing in the deep forest,
there where a shock of the moon enlightens an altar made of muskeg,
there bear me again out and onto the moist flanks of GAIA
how do we know that the artisanal aborigine still sleeps in us, walks about, still waiting for our eyes to open to the dawn?
how long we have slept…
how long we have wept tears in our sleep…
how do we come to sense that we can change our inner form,
molt our skin, our organs, our earthbound haunts and become a winged thing for flight, for transcendence?
How do we know that the placenta of the atmosphere, its airs and currents and thermals and pollens and the dark alchemies draw us out into a winged form of becoming?
how, tell me, lying naked on this muskeg altar< how to be born again into remembrance and a knowing, and how to tell the captive others of the nation/ state that salvation only comes through some natal rite, some blessed beginning wet with the nascent baptism, how to tell them that it is there in the moist chute we must slither again, fully awake and laid in the swaddling warm flesh of Gaia...