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The Rising Volcano

I do not know where it all began, I cannot say, how it began, I question maybe this is just the beginning, I am just a caterpillar stepping into the cocoon, a worm in the whyrm hole.

We are the Volcano people, collecting stones and using them as coal. The Volcano people, the savage ones, the locos, the drifters.

There was a question then, where do I go from here, when I step in, what happens next, somehow that question was banished, something moved into my heart. Like a rock dropped and came to sit in the center of my chest, making it heavy a heavy pulse. The center of my heart, my chest, a burning coal. This coal has been lit, and it burns. It is the first sparks of this coal that make the most transparent and fluid noise, from then on it, just blending into the scenery becoming an old hymn sang by the ancestors.

I do not know what is next. I do not know what is, if anything at all, I can just see my people holding a rock, their heart holding it in their hand feeling its pulse and heat, with their right hand touching the shell of that volcanic rock.

Some burn their hands holding this hard black rock, others grow tired of looking for this rock, some get a rock they do not really want, some do not know that rock is not for them, others know right away which rock they will carry, some pick bigger rocks than others, some get lost looking for rocks, and others make a jewel of this rock.

Those that do not carry rocks, that live far from the Volcano, that take and do not give, there is an invisible wall that holds them on the other side of the Volcano. This white veil, taking out their eye, leaving only one, surrounding them by darkness, but not the darkness of a forest, but the darkness inside a place of corridors, making that one eyed, bump into walls. Half blind they circle the grounds, tumbling drunk by the places they visit, only leaving them to step into the Volcanic grounds and point at the center of these people, causing the coal to pulse and begin to rise, standing in mid air melting the drunkards into dusty ash, that then brother wind carries to the outside of the Volcano from where it came, making the gray ash start from the beginning again.

In the winter time some of these old drunks come back to feel the heat, some come when their shoes are too old to keep going, others when they are hungry or thirsty and want to get fed.

The Volcano people always stay, some can navigate in and out of the gateway, becoming invisible once they pass the gateway. These Hybrids usually sent out for food or tools to bring back to the volcanic lands. The Volcano people, shifting into stalkers, dreamers, warriors, standing in their posts waiting for a loud blow of the wind or rattle of the snake that announce the drunkard entering the land. The drunkard rummaging holding a burnt like smell, almost rotten, their pressing smell being what lets the Volcano people identify them. Some drunkards hide their smell better than others, and they go by for a while without being discovered, but usually a Hybrid that has been passed the gateway recognizes the drunk who poses. The hybrid always knows the truth will always come out, the suit the drunk wears will melt off in the rising of the Volcano. Those coals that erupt from the Volcano will melt in the hands of suitors melting the suitor with it, and that dew becoming the water for the coals that will flower in the hands of the Volcano people, rising then to become their heart.

 Luciernaga, Spirit Radio

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