The Bush Doctor

A man with a fountain head,

From which flowed the mighty dread,

He walked along a lonely path serenely,

A Bush Doctor embracing life obscenely.

His medicine lay in the fields and trees,

Hidden in their branching networks,

His power in dancing herbs and rivers,

Arrays of worlds he treks in,

Poring over, exploring, and foraging,

In the forests of force and meaning,

Inner vision and direction he delivers,

Conducting symphonies of discovery,

His vision charmed with love melodies.

His gift cannot be captured behind glass,

Nor forced or exploited, but only released,

Let go loosely, the rivers rampage,

Flood the dawn with clear cool power,

To weave the souls of the spirit world,

Into the net of our own hedonism,

The world repeatedly melts and forms,

The Bush Doctor feels this transition,

Throughout the bio-plastic tissue,

Of his luminous and glowing body of light.

He follows the life-flows to,

The end of their dimensions,

Where the streams shrink and evaporate,

Falling from geometric corners,

Of the planes of the material world.

He knows which ones to follow,

Which to bow to deeply,

In tender ritual of the psychedelic soul,

Glowing sweaty brow to the earth,

Life-flows pass in placid silence,

They all diverge at different time-locations,

In different dimensions and realities,

Most are not followed by human senses,

The Bush Doctor is a man of medicine,

A shaman of sound, resounding inner energies,

A navigator of internal oceans,

He searches for energies of life unbound by time,

Forces flowing swiftly, deeply,

He knows they flow like liquid,

Everything is fluid at some level of magnification.

He learns through the lens of chaos,

He speaks in the language of the ancients,

Using the spirit voice to transport thought,

He knows that thought breaks like waves and crash,

And can be ridden and followed,

Revealed as flowing cords of light,

The currents of knowledge,

Flow up and down in helix spirals,

Sharp geometric webs of electro-spherical force,

He traces them with cylindrical inner senses,

Communes with rounded presences,

Conscious forces dance around.

The Bush Doctor massages life,

Caresses the flow of time,

Learning her secrets,

Always seducing, coaxing,

And leaving pathways behind glowing,

Drifting away like syrupy smoke,

He can weave and gyrate his hands,

And coerce currents of change,

To dance before his eyes revealing all,

Glowing prosperous streams of energy,

Contained in cascading liquid motion,

Glowing softly, violet aura shimmering,

Hair flows from his head in dread rivers,

Coursing keratin snakes charmed by time,

The Bush Doctor smiles as the atmospheres,

Of the world stroke his body,

Cleansing it and evoking erotic sensation,

He swoons and is reborn from the womb of chaos agony,

His beard follows the current of gravity,

His thin curving mouth opposes it,

He carves the edges of tension,

Riding the crests of ecstasy,

In the swarming jungles of naked truth.

January, 2007