Sylvie Hill

BARRANCO

So, my eyes were foggy
pulled slightly with a vertiginous movement
of a nystagmus with the right-wrong
shift of the head, inside, but had sight.

But was mellowed out by a massage
and a lovely mellow cloudy day out
with a friend and an éclair coma
and the fresh air of the walk.

Saw him at the cash
went for him to scratch his back
“Hey man!” as he/I do on Montreal bike paths
a gig, or at the airport, him on his way to LA and Sylvia with bags.

Something he said about – energy.
PTSD’d brother and the affected dog.
Kids, and the travelling emissions I insisted, of –
… frequencies.

Seemed to recall a prompt
but a missed opp
to ask him “where does it all go?”
in age, this inspiration, creativity and projects.

Then just now, the smell came through the window.
Thick, full and with a hint of ocean spray – echo.
The lush forest floor evaporating in my nose.
Got me thinking of the escarpment of Lima, Barranco.

We survived the jungle.
The bugs and night and especially – our minds in the tambo.
Blown open, right, by plant medicines.
And, all the demons insides we could fight, for sure.

We survived the jungle.
Some walking taller than others.
Me hunched over like a grandma in the morning to Shaman Pedro,
shivering like a scared child.

I wished so much for care in my helplessness!
And they say reality is what we make of it.
So were they not there cuz I felt them not present?
Or by their presence could I feel them not there?

Then just now, the smell came through the window.
Thick, full and with a hint of ocean spray – echo.
The lush forest floor evaporating in my nose
got me thinking of the escarpment of Lima: Barranco.

…and how after the fortnight,
we were returning to civilization to Miraflores.
In the fast, fast Spanish taxi cab
along the Pacific ocean, the escarpment, near midnight.

And on the radio was Alphaville’s “Big In Japan,”
And it felt ominous.
Like the Nico biopic scene:
Music Director cue-queued that one – perfect.

An 80s classic that brought back the magic!
Clichéd saying of the moment was “pregnant.”
But an 80s classic infused with the drama,
and how we knew something was always around the corner for us.

As Jesse remembered his manners
and offered me more seeds from his brown bagger
we spoke of exhaling; I said it assumes breathing
and pointed to Ayahuasca, mapacho and spirituality as the answer.

It was a topic carried forward from Thursday
of two hours with the dentist receptionist
talking about life, stress, these topics
and reincarnation.

Is musing, for an artist, – magic?
Or the simple recognition that there’s more after?
The gratitude to having felt ecstatic?
And to have controlled scenes in paint and poems like a master?

There is such intensity
in cryptic moments
of a car inching up an embankment
of a Peruvian mountain
that Mother Nature sliced at the ocean.

One wonders
if the rains fell too much
would the mountain crumble like a chocolate cake
and its green icing – flow
into the raucous grey ocean – like a beautiful mess?

I think that’s what I did in those days:
…as I waited for my man those nights.

Kicked the mountain to see if it would shake.
Dove into the waves to see if I would break.
Scraped at the night sky for a star to take.
Sped the car so fast it broke the breaks.

Seemed to recall a prompt
But a missed opp
To ask him “where does it all go?”
In age, this inspiration, creativity and projects.

Then just now, the smell came through the window
Thick, full and with a hint of ocean spray – echo.
The lush forest floor evaporating in my nose
got me thinking of the escarpment of Lima: Barranco.

Like they ask of what came first:
the chicken or the egg?
So then: The cliff or the ravine?
Did the ocean make its way around Earth’s edge?

Or did the water ravine itself and form mountains?
I guess things will happen as they can
But it’s all pointless …while serving The Man,
if you’re not waiting for the man
whether it be Christ or some holy Self, within.

Just to let you know here that when I saw Her, sat in my panties of leaked piss,
my bucket of puke and the air full of jungle crickets,
that She was that – scary, divine, Love and …
Numinous.

Ominous threat with a promise of pure bliss.
Not unlike desire and heat and being intimate.
Trick is to be grateful for it in its transience
and to appreciate that maybe that’s the secret –

As Leonard Cohen said, Christ locked him in his body
and meant it as a kind of trial.
“You can use it as a weapon,
Or to make some woman smile…”

And smile, I sure have these past few days!
Through conversations of life and death and other ways!
With people with stories who inspire my tastes!
And I always am when I see his familiar face …

Saw him at the cash
went for him to scratch his back:
“Hey man!” as he/I do on Montreal bike paths
a gig, or at the airport, him on his way to LA and Sylvia with bags.

I see them at the fish store, at the dentist
on the bus and by phone.
They are all my man I’ve been waiting for
and who I hope are waiting for me at home.

I pray my energy is pure and infected by majestic entities
so as to inspire through being and presence
a stillness and smiling
an alternate knowing
of what really matters…

Something he said about – energy.

Because Jesse who feeds seeds
always plants seeds
of why aren’t we all maximizing our potentials
talents, and dreams like he’s been?!

But beyond the successes, accolades and ra-ra
(And the restaurant in Tutukaka)
What we dream for the most
is just to feel the salty abrasive breeze
of an ocean with the power to exfoliate our dead thoughts
or of the strength of a mountain that lets the wild ocean
crash into us
raging, in its active beauty
and vitality.
It’s enough.

Sylvie Hill, Montreal
March 3, 2024

Photo: Christian Loayza