THE COIN TRICK
It moves across the ridges
of your knuckles
like a whispered chant
through prayer beads.
It disappears behind
the sliver of bone
that is your pinky finger
only to emerge
from beneath the fleshy
gnome of your thumb.
Again and again
the silver coin
appears and disappears,
appears and disappears
from your
down-turned palm.
You practice this sleight-
of-hand trick mindllessly
from a lichen-covered boulder
that juts out from a cliff.
From this seated perch—
that feels more like a throne
than a place to rest—
the Himalayas, ridge
after rising snow-capped ridge,
stretch out before you
like an ethereal kingdom.
In the near distance,
in the invisible currents,
spiraling to great heights
and then swooping down
into the depths of the valley below,
are two condors.
The coin continues
to cross and re-cross
the knuckled ridges
of your hand, sending
the day’s dazzling light
back towards the great
circle of the sun.
All of a sudden, you see
one of the giant birds
fall away from the other
and float into the valley
before you, growing larger
and larger as it makes
its descent, seemingly
in your direction.
Delighted by this sight,
you still the coin, and conceal it
in the cloister
of your closed hand.
Just then the bird stills itself,
becomes motionless in the sky,
frozen against
the frozen peaks
behind it. You watch it
swerve backwards and upwards,
climbing and spiraling
until it rejoins its partner
in high-flight. You begin
rolling the coin across
your knuckles again,
if only to distract yourself
from the disappointment
of not having had the close
and spectral encounter
you were hoping for.
The sun’s rays again flair
and flash off the surface
of the revolving coin
into ether of sky.
Instantly, the broad winged bird,
arcs away from its partner,
and, for a second time,
drops down, now faster
than before, taking clear aim,
and dives toward its target.
It is upon you before you know it,
and has subsumed you into its gaze,
has feathered you inside
its immense shadow.
You and your shining coin,
lucid and dreaming,
are airborne and ascending, spiraling
into the crystalline air.
Maybe we are all dreaming
this dream in one form or another
or are engaged with
some kind sleight-of-hand trick
all because we are wanting
to make contact
with our own shimmer and shine,
our own divinity,
in the hope that that contact
will bring us into communion
with a spirit greater than
ourselves, a spirit that is
more-than-human. Maybe that is
the real magic we are after.
*Inspired by David Abrams’s book, The Spell of the Sensuous
