The Sage of Stone Chime Path

In the morning

his soul beat like the wings of a thousand summer
geese taking the sky.

In the winter

his thoughts are clear and cold as snowflakes.

in the evening

a song dances from his fingertips.

In the firelight

he grazes on the passions of smoke.

Who is this wandering king,
                      the sage of Stone Chime path?
From whence does he receive his powers?

From the gathering wind and the green-sea foam
it is carried on tiny wings.
From the rolling clouds and the starlit sky
He feels the grace of heaven.

Do not harm him for in his wrath,
he breaks the mountainside.
but the greatest danger is that his touch
will strip you bare of sorrows.

He has loved you since the dawn of days.
And in dreams he dreams of you
                        Naked under the sun
                              your former dreams
                                      shattered
                                            like ice on the stones.


-Jeremiah Griswold

Birdsnest

On those days the sun never quite came up
The young man acquired a meresome aspect
His mind was all swampy from too much rain
And a birdsnest clung to his hair
He liked the sound of the snowmelt
And his chair was often visited
But as for caring
He was plum worn out
So he feasted on the snow and the silence.



-Jeremiah Griswold

Primeval

Under a stone in a clearing
in the midst of a vast primeval forest
lived a boy who never did what he was told.

He was alone, but for a small bird
who sang to him so sweetly
he never longed for more various companions.


-Jeremiah Griswold

Cairn of broken sticks

"Building this was exciting. It looked like a nest at first but I had this idea of an egg-shape. You can see it from the road nearby if you are lucky and perceptive and I think that if you are lucky and perceptive there should be something mysterious and a little grand waiting for you to discover. I like the moment when I see something beautiful and so strangely organized that you wonder, 'what did this? it must have been some crazy guy!' In a way I guess I am hoping that when other humans see it it may cause them to think, 'some human did that, definitely, only people are that cool... I'm a person.' I also like that this particular work had anthropomorphic overtones, it looks like a witness or a guardian."

-Jeremiah Griswold

Ninja star ferns

"So I was thinking, 'I gotta get out of my head and into my hands.' If you know what I mean. I was walking in the woods a lot anyway. This was the stuff, this was the place, the stream was filled to overflowing and rushing on by. 'I like whirlpools,' never entered my head. Its a little weird how I'm guided by whatever it is, but I have yet to actually plan any of this."

- Jeremiah Griswold

Whirlpool ferns coming from the tree

"I think I could have done more with this, I guess there is still time. I actually like working with stuff that goes away, sometimes very quickly. Seeing what I can do with what's available. I played a little with texture and color here. It was raining like hell at the time. I saw this tree which had fallen across the stream in the winter and there was this perfect yoda-hut hole in the base of it. I have been thinking about decay a lot recently, and life. The tree had died but there were these mushrooms growing out of it and beetles eating the bark, it was going back into the ground and so I guess I just went with that."

- Jeremiah Griswold

Oh, those Chapter Twenty lines!

Oh, those Chapter Twenty lines!
Those ancient Lao Tzu syllables!
For I
Other people have ambition and desire.
My only desire is to never be tortured by desire!
Other folk find value in industry and imagination.
I just want to sit and watch,
A small roof,
A little garden, the postman,
And much time.
Why am I so persecuted?
No other heeds the mysteries,
They only hear the voices of their
Dearly dead ancestors saying
"You must!"
"If you don't it will be a waste of your life!!"
But True Nature never allows waste.
Even the rotten and the damned,
Nourish the groundswell of honest love.
Even waste is not waste.
Waste is the birthplace of the ten thousand things
And everybody hates it.
This is a problem.
We are all trying to grow flowers
On the dry slab of ambition.


-Jeremiah Griswold

Last day in the old apartment

On our last day
      in the old apartment
the word fragile was everywhere,
                        as though it was warning us
that to stay too long was futile.
            Besides we were done with it;
the cracked brown floor
      the water pipes
            the echoes cheered us on.
Last years memories
            a heap of dust
someone else's stuff.
                              And we took it all to heart
                                    and moved on.


--Jeremiah Griswold

Introducing: Jeremiah Griswold

Jeremiah! O! What can I say? We have been friends since elementary school. We lost touch for a bunch of years, but when we saw each other again became even better friends than ever. Friends! What an undervalued thing! He is one of my two best friends in the world.