The New Life: Stage Six Part One For Marie Poem by Daniel Brick

In late autumn Daniel withdrew completely from his urban world and artistic life. He began living in a two-room cabin in the far North, near the Canadian border. His only visitors were members of The Community who monitored his health and well-being. They brought him food but all he would accept were vegetables and fruits and some breads. He considered milk and coffee necessities. One member, Helena,
took a personal interest in Daniel's situation. She was amused at his ascetic lifestyle and his resolute resolve not engage in artistic
discussions or even small talk. And when she brought up poetry, he seemed strangely disengaged for a published poet, like a latter-day Rimbaud. It was puzzling because he had a sizable collection of poetry books in the cabin. However, it was Helena's report in person to The Community on Daniel's efforts to master Spirit Flight that alarmed all the members. Helena broke down twice during her report but rallied both times, determined to finish her assignment. This crisis occurred in early February, four months into Daniel's solitary existence in the northern Minnesota wilderness.

HELENA'S ACCOUNT

He leans back, bending
his hips painfully, bending
his neck further back
with more sharp pain,
and from that contorted position
he sees a sky-dome formed
by blue-gray clouds.
The clouds rise
from the horizon, hidden
by bare branches,
and hugging the curve
of the sky-dome, they
reach a zenith, into which
he steadfastly, ecstatically
stares, silent but in grievous
pain. He sees the wonder
of the sky-realm: streaks
of pale red, then fiery red,
finally bright orange cuts
through the clouds,
which form an immense
burning staircase,
stretching from the horizon
upward to the zenith,
then past that zenith
to an impossibly higher
one his unblinking eyes
can barely reach. Then
suddenly the streaks,
the vivid colors, vanish
until the only red is a pale
glow behind the tree cluster,
and the blue drained out
of the clouds, and he is released
from his nightly AGON. He lies
on that cold ground,
recovering, for some
thirty or forty minutes,
before he can hobble
back to his cabin
where he sits upright
in a hard wood chair
for several hours of meditation.
And then, so prepared,
he lies on his cot
until the Lucid Dreams
arrive, and with them
what he calls Spirit Flight.

DANIEL'S LETTER TO THE COMMUNITY

Winter is hard, but not
without its cold delights.
Everyday it grows older,
and goes further from me,
leaving behind snow piles
blocking the vista,
ice-crusted branches
that snap and break,
the silence of empty fields,
and deer and small animals
desperate for food. My
sympathy for Earth and her
creatures grows more keen,
it slices through my life
like a perfect scimitar.
I have no defenses,
I want none. I want
to feel want and hunger
to close the gap between
our souls. By spring
I want my soul to resemble
theirs, no more for me
a privileged human soul.
That gift I surrender to
empathy. The small things bunched
inside of me want to ease
my pains, make this exile
comfortable. Bless them.
Their type of being is celebratory:
life for them revels in wonders
and joys. But mine is otherwise:
I live in the place of AGON,
and I will not ease that experience
until I have mastered Spirit Flight.
Only then can I offer my true
services to The Community. Monica
told me a larger world would be
revealed to me. Only now can I
begin to appreciate that
boundlessness, and the vistas
I have seen make my previous
work minuscule....