GHOST JACKAL

A not-so-narrow strip

of middle ground exists

Somewhere between the furthest extremes of an apparently linear existence.

 In the gap between the intoxicating, dreamy departure of death,

And the grand parade at our celebrated emergence into new life

Exists a threshold.

Who can know what new substance fills this gap?

“Who can know?”

I  know.

I have discovered it. Listen and believe what I have seen;

This urge to tell my truth,

It’s divine. It is crucial.


I know that I once stood in a quiet place.


Puddles of sparkling green water surround my way, as I walk silently among the foliage

Of this garden.

Flowering trees, roses, snapdragons, and numerous species of cacti are all here. Pigeons round the high chain link fence encircling the garden for as far as I can see. There is no chatter, no birdsong.

I am somehow a gatekeeper. I stand guard.

My thoughts are paused by the freezing breeze.

Many people come to this place and are turned in, turned out. Redeemed in bliss.

How can I explain? How can anyone read and understand this mystery?

The aura of peace surrounds these wandering souls, and yes here I am.

Here I am, to see their own eyes now so fragile and so bright.

And it is so quiet here. As if every living thing in the garden is sleeping.

If not for the biting cold, this could be wonderful. If not for the cold, those who pass here

Just might stay.

If not for the cold, and for the fact I can not stop a single soul from passing through

The Gate.

I’m just a Doorman. I’m just a witness. And I don’t know why I can’t stop watching.

I  really do want them to turn around. Take the black door, in the glass wall,

That leads back home.

But so many of them wander to the iron gate where I stand.

And I don’t want them to leave… I don’t want them to go through that Gate, but then

I look at them.

I see them. I see the seasoning of the years.

I see Moons traveled and I see leaps of faith.

I see bad news and worries, misunderstandings, and lifelong secrets.

I see slates. Blank ones. Cracked ones. Scraped ones.

I see a lot realized in little time.

For the elder and the infant, I see a lot of learning

In very little time.

And so I break the rule. Nobody comes to check.

The Gate stays open, and the fire stays lit.

The ghosts keep moving, for the wind is cold.

I want them to seek, I want them to go.

Sweet song of resurrection,

Oh, to be made new.

I saw these things, and it was true.

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