FALL 09        

[night journey] by my standards the dose of medicine is large. stalked relentlessly by the Serpent i descend. but it is a slow, painful, never-ending death from a chironic wound that will not let me break through. even an alchemical transmutation—breaking down the body's structure into serpent pulp—does not nearly suffice. it takes a kind of shamanic harakiri to permit the Eagle to fly the Serpent through the darkness and into some glimpses of the Light. deep in the recess of my sleeping bag, i have hardly look at the full moon magic surrounding hoodoos. late morning, at the end of a long exhausting ordeal, i emerge, a living corpse...Samhain, festival of darkness indeed.

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