Will Penna
I
was born in San Francisco in 1937 and have spent most of my life
living
within a hundred miles of the city: Larkspur, Elk Grove,
Santa Cruz, Sonoma.
I
graduated from Marin Catholic in 1955 just in time to greet the Beats
across the Bay.
Ten
years later, when it was still legal, I belatedly experienced LSD
for the first time.
I
taught high school English and ESL for 35 years, 1960-95, with a break
in 1970 when
I
taught in Barcelona at two places, one of which is run by Opus Dei. My
favorite travels
have
been to native shamanic sites, present and past: among them the
Southwest and Northwest,
England,
Mexico, Central America, the Andes and the Amazon, Nepal, for entheogenic insights and outlooks.
________________
Wanton Desire: Introduction
This is a piece I've already shared with
several folks who were with
me at the 1999 Breitenbush Salvia
conference, some of whom shared the
session the poem refers to. The piece came
to me spontaneously when I
returned to my cabin after a session in the
sanctuary in which we
shared Sage Goddess Emerald Essence. I did
not 'craft' it; it came to
me into my journal as you read it now in
one fell swoop or even more
as one 'swell foop.'
Our group had started out as just six of us but—as
these things go
— inexplicably and inextricably—grew to a dozen.
Also, I approached the
invitation to join with my two inner voices in conflict; and
rather
than follow my usual dictum, 'when in
doubt, don't,' I went ahead.
One voice, my lefthand dark guardian
Azazel, said: 'do it, Will;
you've spent all your money here so you
won't have a chance to sample
it otherwise until a couple weeks after you
return home and send to
Daniel for it!' The other voice, Lee my
righthand angel of light,
said: 'you will know when it is best for
you to partake; it is not
now, in this strange place among strangers,
even with these friendly
strangers!'
We formed our circle, introduced ourselves,
stating how strong a dose
we would take and sharing our intentions. I
had decided on 3
undiluted droppersful, a moderate dose;
some were going to have one
or two dropper loads, many were going to
dilute the liquid—about as
strong as everclear—with hot water. Most
people stated a respectful
and respectable intention; I perhaps
foolishly thought mine equally
appropriate: 'you have shown me, Ska
Pastora, what you have to show
on other occasions when I have chewed or
smoked you; show me now your
power in this form.' Then, when we were
passing the bottle and
dropper, on the third round a bit dribbled
down my lip, so I decided
to squirt a fourth load in, not consciously
realizing that this would
nudge my dose into the strong category.
We had decided to douse the lights when we
were done with the circle
work. As you will see below, I was
unprepared for the suddenness and
strength of the trip I was now on. But
then, like some other intrepid
psychedelic explorers, let alone the
sorcerer's apprentice, I have at
other times over the past 35 years or so
found myself beyond the M.C.
Escher beyond as I begin the entheogenic
beguine.
----
she will not
suffer fools
i knew that
waiting at her gate
it was not my time
but wanton desire beckoned
almost roared
so i let myself be blinded
even though the snow was melting
so it wasn't that
even though the circle was imperfect
but it wasn't that
even though i'd heard no call
so it was that
so when i communed with her
in that refuge from the snow
darkness descended before i knew it
walls folded impossibly outwardly in
escaping voices twisted away
i lay alone in the desacrated temple
its heaving walls an unfunhouse ride
she would not suffer fools
i reached up to broken shards
then down to a vagrant pillow
broken slants of light
more distant muffled sighs
all was riven now
perhaps never whole
i knew not how i'd come
to this crazy house
i must go out
if there were an out
rolling over i found a wall
then the broken sharp things again
then—somehow not surprisingly—
a berber carpet under me
i rolled some more
hands fumbled on an edge
reached down
a stair
another
i dragged my belly my knees
came almost head over heals
(head over heals?)
boarding down the stairs
arms and legs my wheels
but she stopped me—
no, not SHE, but just she—
and asked me where i was going
'oh, someone's here!'
yes
come back
i crawled back in the dark
back into the broken temple
less broken now
but no less desacralized
'ouch! you're stepping on me!'
the stepping stopped
sorry! came a distant sigh
as light and sanity blinked on
we all held our breath for both
i glimpsed the menacing shards
merely seashells along the wall
we gradually told our stories—
those who desired—
lawnmower man his
green goddess lady hers
one had disappeared
another stayed grimly silent
a hand over his face
we chatted we laughed we humans
but it was never right
foolish wanton deed
but it was done—good to go
Will Penna
From "Sagewise"
12 December 1999
-----------------------
rave bro
hugs 'r' phun
- oh yeah -
hugs 'r' phat but
they ain't tight
when yr heart
& yr brain cells
pump empty air
& ain't quite there . . .
smiles 'r' kewl
& o-so sweet
but they only
fade away
when they're
jus so much
effen blah
& sucky lah-ti-dah . . .
feelings 'r' jus
freakin grate
but if you can't
share em too
they mean nuthin
less than zero
as you refuse
these here blues . . .
friendship is
sharing love
you said that
& i did too
now yer response
ain't that any more
on our one-way road
that's so damn cold . . .
PLUR
- oh yeah -
includes
loss & yearning
so where's yers
when you shine on
this my sorrow
till some other tomorrow . . .
to jd
Will Penna
12 July 1995
---------------------
XTC 79
you in the tree hollow’s
deep cambium shaft
its warm heaving tendons
pulsing me & tree fly to sky
& I at the end of that shaft
our deep bodily embrace
holding you holding me
tendons pulsing tendons
communion beyond flesh
this day of our spirits
& night of our souls
light in the darkness
of allembracing love
first we swim fish in the sea
rhythmic waters churning us
then we leap upon the land
rolling & arcing satyr boys
finally we fly through the air
riding carpets of our sighs
I come in the evening
on holy pilgrimage
you come before leaping
up to our edge &
we come together
jumping the ledge
of this our all souls’ eve
Will Penna
31 October 1979
--------------------------
Four from my teens in the '50s:
winds fingering
retinas of lightning
rain sweats my skin
warm ... close
but not yet human
~ ~ ~ ~
Lyman's music after three days
remains
a mechanical piano
gears running mad
a toy drum endlessly
rap-a-tapping
bird calls not oddly
a man's echoing in
a thatched shower
but with women
drunkenly giggling
and boys more like
garish girls scented
so sadly slitskirted
expecting nothing
anyway except, well,
you know...music.
~ ~ ~ ~
Boys' voices softer
and deeper than girls'
their giggles and
expectations higher
masked by their voices
like an elevator going up
high
but they going in that elevator
down
to a garage like their lives
full only of cars' back seats
and sundown suburbias
~ ~ ~ ~
Me
If I am a camera I'm a slightly
cockeyed one
If I fear failure I've not
tasted it yet
If I desire affection I find it
difficult to offer ...
At first
Why must there always--
and sometimes only--
be an at first?
~Will Penna
across the bay
from the beat generation
1954-58
