Soliloquy / Te Deum

By C.D.Courter
From the book "Shasta Cycle, a Journey by Bicycle"

                   Soliloquy / Te Deum


Where does a man go
   When he fails in the teeth of challenge?
Where can a penitent hide
   When his courage fails at the test?
                               Tied to the hearth
               By chords of hemp that jerk taught
                In constraint, that bite fiercely
                              Into tender flesh - 
The canyon path remains unclimbed,
The peaks a mysterious realm
Of uncertain, inconstant gods.

I have seen marks on the ground gouged
    By death-throes of the spirit.

I have laid in a narrow grave and asked
    For wine, but received only buckets
    Of earth.

I have been unmanned by defeat,
    Seared by fiery winds that burned
    My house to ruin.  All plans
    For the building are ash, all capital
Is spent.

   Chained to Charon's raft,
           I have prayed for a last absolution
           And, beyond hope,
                           received
                   another
                           chance.

I crossed the great Sacramento on a narrow bridge,
    And the river mirrored my motion, rolling on
    To answer a ceaseless call.  To the valley together
    We had come, seeking rest from distant travels, needing calm
    And stillness, a pause in the shade of the trees.
                              The sigh
                                       Of the stream
                    Slipped away
                                 like a passing love,
                         Yet enclosed me like family,
                         Like the laying-on of hands.
             As I crossed the river, the last tatters
              Of an old cloak
                               Fell away;
                             for a moment
                              I was lost.
             The door lay loose on its hinges with
                                    a shattered lock;
                Rapture floated on the air 
                                          like music.

    There is no place in the mind
    Where an honest man can hide.
    For the blind there is no darkness.
    Harried by demons,  consumed by truth, at the last
    I had found that store of steadfast strength and courage
                    And reshouldered the burden.
                                                 I stood on a hill
            Just above the flood, newly fitted with tools to build
                            a raft, or a bridge, or a great ship -
There were winds to blow the sails, a running tide, and 
bright stars to guide me.  Command
Is a feat of the mind like success
                                   is
                                      of the spirit.
                     And pedaling up a gentle rise
                    At noon, I paused, dismounted,
                    And turned to see the great cone
                                           of Shasta
                               Gleaming in the north
                                      Like a trophy.
               Suddenly, I knew the trial was over, I had passed
               the test, desolation was gone, 
                                            travail had passed away
                          like a log on the river,  
               gone to Antioch.
                      I had descended from Ambrose Station
                      To find lunch in the Canby Saloon.
                      I had stood at the stolen sign
                      On Adin Pass.  I could clearly see myself
                      Reflected in the waters of Lost River,
                      Fragrant of new-sawn wood in Burney Falls, 
                      Thick as the blackflies at Tule Lake.
                No more was the view
                From my armchair constrained
                By the hills of Time -
                   Immersed in the great river,
                I had beaten my way upstream
                To its very source - which now welled up
                Around me, a heady liquor of youth
                                 Untouched by despondency.
                The rhythm of time is my keeper,
                To its cadence
I have danced from nightfall until dawn.

Under a waxing sun, in the heat of the day,
I remount the bike for the last time, and turn right
Onto route ninety-nine.  At South Street
I hardly pause - Why stop, there is nothing
   To hold me, I am driven instead
   By thirst, by the want
   Of a cold beer.

Standing on a great rock, edges rounded
   by an age of storm,
      I stand in the sunlight and feel its warmth.
   In peace, there is no need for removal,
   In stillness, no longing to fly,
   In calm, no concern for the battle,
   In strength, the freedom to cry.



                                           C. D. Courter        




(c)2003-2005 C. D. Courter
All rights reserved.
No commercial use allowed without written permission from the author.