Pythian Games

put on your track shoes and write the miles

Posts Tagged ‘jack london

Dear Jack (written to author, Jack London)

with 12 comments

My saddest lines and words to famous author, Jack London (1876-1916)

You are
my one
distinct and
silent voice
resting deep
in stillness

I stand with no one around. The cool morning breeze pulling a few pieces of hair away from my face, I wait.

The winds shift into a deep ryhthmic longing.

Your breath tickles the nape of my neck. My heart is racing as I feel a soft kiss brush against my skin. Your voice mixes with the winds in the haunting sounds of love.

Gasp! You are behind me, a chilling touch preventing me from falling to your grave with shattered tears. You know I would just as soon dig you up and lie down beside you, then throw the blanket of Earth back to keep us covered. Alas, knowing my morbid thoughts, your ghostly hands wrap around my waist. Gently, you squeeze. I pray you take my life so we can be together. You don’t.

My beloved Jack, I wallow in madness for I cannot reach you. I am unable to touch your hands that I yearn to hold for comfort. I quest to know why my heart and mind would follow you again to this place that keeps me captive; this place that grieves for you. Your grave. The place you were put to rest. The place that rest robs me and burns my soul in the agony of missing you.

Do not give me simple gestures to erase you from my mind. I have tried to unplug the rhythm of your voice to no avail. Jack, you elude my dreams for I cannot place you in my current life. I cannot hear your words and am left only to the haunting chant of you lingering in the depths of my being, your whispers carried through the ethers of time.

Pushed down to your grave, you disappear as quickly as you had appeared. The pangs of anguished love rips from the belly up. A scream can be heard for miles. My knees bend into a ball and the scent of dirt from your grave torches me. You are gone. I am alone again.

What kind of mad woman am I to be haunted by a ghost I can only love from a distant past? How is it that I ache for your expressions that stain my thoughts with ink from your words? Your novels line my bookshelves. Yet, I cannot read them for they bleed me, imagining your lips upon mine from another existence. I am chased by the illusion of what cannot be, lost by the fine threads between this life and beyond.

It is true that I yearn to know this love here and now; to feel that soulful love is possible.

Jack, if it is destiny, I will put you to rest as a ghost of a distant past until another takes my heart as passionately as you. Until then, I remain a soulful lover that surrenders to the dreamer’s dream of awakening.

 Jack London had a great influence in my life from the time I started reading his books at an early age to the many years spent visiting at his beloved ranch (Beauty Ranch) in Glen Ellen, CA (Sonoma County wine country). I have often felt that I have loved him deeply in another time and space. His Credo has been a guiding light:

I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze
than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow,
than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.

— genece hamby, contemporary artist & poet

Written by Genece Hamby

May 15, 2008 at 4:41 pm