Spell to Break a Curse of Freezing and of Muteness 03.02.022

To the Moon, and the nighttime sky in which She shines;
to the churring Insects, humming through summer doldrums;
to the great Prairie, lying in wait for a chance to return to its former glory;
to the Breeze, wending its way through grasses and trees;
to the great Lake Mishigami, whose shores he would not touch;
to the Snowfall, which he hates, and the quelling Silence found therein:

I petition your aid in breaking a curse of Freezing, and of Muteness, upon a man I once loved.
I invoke your powers combined to heal him of his ailments, and to bring him enduring Peace.

With your will behind me, and guided by your wisdom, to him I speak:

for the one who cannot verbalize,
for the one with the frozen tongue and icy heart:

a fire in your belly, searing heat and choking smokes
to singe the inner thorax, heat the throat,
and goad a dead tongue into movement, new life.

Liquid salt, to quell the aches and strife
of a carbonized larynx;
to expel the demons assailing your being.
Tears to wash clean and heal wounds twining:
an absent father;
a flighty mother;
a brother who could be closer.

Deluge of water, nonstop pouring,

to shake free crushing feelings
of regret, loneliness, and loss:
water, to invigorate the pro- and eu-karyotic,
to enliven what might otherwise become
brown’d husk, crusted carapace;
fresh ozone forth from wettened loam,
rich soils in which to plant your hands,
grounding the chaos of the chemoelectric.

To remind you:
the gentle droning of summer cicadas,
the chirping of crickets, a hum

in keeping with the thrum

of your bloodmuscle;

the Breezes which carry their chorus—
wending their ways through leaves and stalks,
wafting scents of things warm and verdant—

to caress your face

as I will

no longer.

In inky, loving blackness suspended:
the gaze of our Earth’s Moon,

whose visage you have long admired.

May She solace you in your solitude,
darkly reflecting the light of Truth
too bright for a lens of protein or glass to bear.
May She, too, remind you.

And when there is no growth;
when verdancy has given itself over to the sway of the invernal;
when the fires that have been lit and stoked
begin to wither and grow cold—
the churring Insects’ songs stilled,
Breezes transformed into whipping winds,
the Lake, and your voice, once more overfrozen—

when flakes plummet from the sky;
when the Freezing returns, and with it,
the Silence:

Pressing in.
Deafening.

Drowning out the roaring

of city life,
Moonlight,
and the echoes of my fading voice— 
the voices of countless others

(clamoring over one another
like the waves on Mishigami’s shores)—

with the sound of Nothing
blanketing your head like a fuzzy childhood memory;
pressure on your eardrums;
bloodmuscle’s thrumming nigh to bursting

in your locked throat:

may you reach inward, deeper
than you ever have before,
and—

filling your lungs
with the sacred absence of Vacuum: the cacophony
of every voice forgotten—

may you hear

your own Self

speak.