The veil opens. The last wild grizzly bear in California sweeps in, on
his way to his final mountain rest.
   Great soul of a lifetime...in whom old memories flash and fade. Of
entrapment , rage and fear, astonishment...puzzlement. Caged forever.
Behind iron bars, with dancing green oaks surrounding him. Many strange
beings walking around him and past. Children laughing. Old memories of
another bear and her motherhood. Strong young cubs...long time past.
   He can smell elk and deer, just beyond the tall oaks . Beyond the
iron bars. Caged forever.
   The end comes. Old and decrepit, he is released.  Killed,
dismembered, skinned, bones buried unceremoniously in the park, then
later dug up to store and reconstruct elsewhere. Skin dried, restuffed,
part of a sort of macabre bear theatre...a main player on display in the
museum forever. Laughing children surround him.
   A part escapes finally. Windborne by willing children through the
cool mountin air, warmed by mountain sun, wet by mountain rain, to sink
ar last into mountain earth...at peace within the Greater Bear Spirit.
   The bear's spirit had thus returned to the wilderness. To the
mountains where he had once wandered free.
   They called him Monarch, those that did talk. Forgotten never. He was
their land totem, his likeness copied onto California's state flag, to
remind them of the wild earth around them. A giant of the West,
conquered yet conquering in the forests and river valleys of our hearts.
   Later the children returned from the mountain, and gathered in the
ancient oak grove in Golden Gate Park, the very place where Monarch Bear
lived and died, the old cage torn down, replaced by Spanish monstery
stones, and finally evolving into a Druidic meditation grove.
The stones seemed sometimes to rise in new configerations, echoing
images, suggesting a statue, a bear figure...to honor the Monarch.
   The children prayed to heal the wounded King.  
   The Monarch Bear only sleeps. He will return.

I sang to the birds, and the birds came flying.
And we sang to the sun through the movements of air

I sang to the lizards, and they came running
And the snakes slithered in hot sands of bright fire.

I sang to the whales, and the whales came singing
And we sang cross the waters of the oceans so deep.

I sang to the bear, and the bear kept turning
With the earth and the soil's tiny creatures asleep.

The song rose to the stars, and it spread o'er the earth
And into the hearts of all creatures around.
All our singing was there, we heard the great buzz
And everyone singing there loved the Great Sound.

They thought he was a punk gothic
Teenager, in his black lipstick,
And black trenchcoat.
They thought he was trying to look like
Everyone else in high school.
But no, the boy sat at home,
Looking at old photos of Indians
Wearing war paaint, and peace paint,
And face paint for ritual dancing.
He looked at old paintings of ancient Celtic Druids
Broad woad stripes painted on their faces
As warriors and for special rituals,
Looking like Mel Gibson in that movie.
He looked at the world around him
And wished to do honor to his
Apache and Welsh ancestors.
It was all perfectly logical.
So he wore black.

Mohamet

Mohamet wanted the mountain
And the mountain came to him and said
Why do you love me?
And Mohamet said
Because you are there
And wandered off into the night.

The poetry reading was a sort of holding vat
In which old poets fermented
And steeped and refined
Into the finest of wines ...
The poetry the very gods listen to.
Wreathes are bestowed
Allegiances are given
The next thousand years are described.