Pigs Might Fly

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Yeah, I'll take a shot at it. There's a lot of information and very little fluff. It wants percolating. Good thing its rainy today...

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

In taking on this flesh, Caphir, a pink and pendulous pig,
had a heart that wouldn’t fit inside him, it was far too big.
Choices made within the spirit world made it invisible,
This heart with its full compliment of love.

With heart linked to his body by a vanished silver chain,
Caphir forged forth to frequent pools of pain.
Family and friends tripped on his heart, he grew to walking quietly,
His oversize companion always bumping along behind.

This heart when light would drift into the cloudstrewn summer sunlit sky,
Caphir would float beneath, Caphir would fly.
Distance lent a focus on these flights, and he would shout down,
As understanding dawned within: “I love! I love you There!”

When heavy, Caphir’s heart would drag him deeply deeply down,
Where wicked winter winds were making sounds.
“I love you, please help me” Caphir called up continually,
unheard as always were his distant cries.

Tireless times he railed against that sturdy silver chain,
He tried and tried to sever himself from pain.
The silver always held, resigned, he kicked his heart up high
It looped, surprise!, and fell into his hands.

Its properties in motion for our young pig saved the day
With airspun color catwheels he would play.
This juggling game became him, and he played it through the seasons
Adding elements both bright and wholly visible.

His gift for making people laugh became a song he had to sing
When juggled high, his heart became a silent, safer thing.
He wished that they could see it up there, loving them to bits.
They all watched with their eyes seeing only tricks.

Until the day, in quiet place, and listening to the earth spin by
Caphir rested himself on hilltop high.
She came and sat beside our pig, she saw his heart,
she picked it up, soft, said “How Beautiful, and special, this.”

Caphir rejoiced to see his massive heart cradled there in her hands,
And saw at once his journeys in distant lands,
Had rubbed his heart a deep patina, jewel-like wisdom polish.
The moisture in her eyes reflected wonder.

“Its yours, but it’s attached to me” Caphir began, “this chain, you see…”
“I know”, she said, her hand light on his knee.
“You keep this heart, and let them try to see it with their eyes.
We all have somesuch special silver chain.”

“My gift to us is seeing you not with my eyes but with my heart,
Its all I have, Caphir, this is my art.”
They flew that day, both feather light, and landed both back on the ground.
They walked, Caphir’s heart bumping along behind.


*

[ 04-28-2002: Message edited by: Mr.Taxi Trix ]</p>

[Butterfly Man]

Superb ... I nominate you pork laureate!

[Peter Voice]

Hoping I haven't offended Robert, I offer this effort.
The emphasis is on a "Flying Pig" as the heroine. Perhaps Caphir himself is a flying pig that doesn't know it yet. With apologies.

Softly In The Quiet Places by Robert Nelson, mangled by Peter Voice

Ages ago beyond dim mortal recollection, a small, fragile creature blinked once and was born. He was perfectly normal, seemingly like his fellow creatures, except for the inordinate size of his heart. So big was it, in fact, that it would not fit safely inside his ribs.

The world then was a great, bright dark swirl of air and water, filled with still places and dangerous currents. The God in charge of this world looked at it and at the little creature and whispered, “You have three choices, Little One. You may let go of your imperfect physical home and return with me to wait for one which is normal. You may give back this unusual heart and go forward into physical life, free of pain and feeling. Or you may choose to keep your strange heart and learn to carry it with you.”
The fragile creature closed his eyes. Like all tiny ones, he carried pale memories of a time gone by when he had walked this same earth. His soul was very old and he knew much of life. So he sighed, opened his eyes, and embraced his heart. The God nodded, fashioned a fine silver chain, and fastened the lovely heart to the little being’s ankle. Then the God touched it and the chain and the heart became invisible to all but the tiny creature. The God said, “Now you look like all the rest. It will not be easy.” The tiny creature nodded and fell asleep.
In time, the currents of the earth swept the creature into earth events and he was duly named Caphir, after a star in the constellation of Virgo.
Caphir grew and played about in the streams and eddies of earth life where all small creatures learned to negotiate before stepping full into the tumult of living. But he was not exactly “right”. Many times his mother would trip over his invisible silver chain and turn on him for being so clumsy. Other little creatures ran into his heart which bumped along after him, and bouncing off onto the ground, they would deride him for his strangeness. Caphir was alone most of the time.
Because his heart was so large , when it was light it would go up like a bright balloon, pulling Caphir along. It would soar so high that Caphir could see all the earth and could look down at the swirly patterns, dark and light, and understand why people were so confused. And he would shout down, “I love you all anyway!” But no one could hear him because he was so far above them.
Too, when his heart was heavy it would sink to the bottom of one of the dark still places and Caphir would be dragged down and down into the cold. There his heart would sit like an anchor with poor Caphir drifting helplessly around it. He would pull and tug at his chain, trying to dislodge his heart from the bottom, and he would look up and shout, “I love you, please help me.” But no one could hear him because he was so far below them.
Most of the time, however, his heart just tumbled along behind him. It got scrapes and nicks and bumps, and once or twice, a little crack. To Caphir it looked as though it would never last a lifetime. He was sure that one more good bump and it would crumble into a million pieces.
Once, when he was young but starting to get strong, Caphir walked all night, thinking about his situation. Finally he decided that he no longer wanted to be bothered with dragging his burdensome feelings around outside himself for all the world to batter. He was determined to be like all the rest. So he set to work with a hammer and chisel to break the silver chain. He stayed alone for days, working feverishly, pounding and grinding and filing. At last, weak and exhausted, he sat back and cried, for he had not put one dent in the smooth silver. Between his sobs he heard a voice calling him. He sat up and listened as a firm voice said, “Caphir, I gave you the choice when your ancient memory was still intact. You chose this path and such choices are not easily unmade.”
So Caphir wiped his eyes and sniffled once and pushed at the chipped-up heart with his toe. He was lonely and unhappy, but he resigned himself to his lot. As he mused over his fate, he kept pushing his heart up against the wall and it would roll back to him. Soon he began to notice different ways to bounce it off the wall, then from one hand to another, then back off the wall. “Why had he never tried this before?”, he wondered. Look at all the wonderful tricks he could do!
Caphir became very excited. So excited, in fact, that, he forgot to be sad. All night he practiced making his beautiful heart do colour cartwheels in the air. The next morning he felt he must show someone else this great discovery. He rushed outside, then stopped short. A great weight descended upon him. How could he show anyone? His heart was invisible.
After much thought, Caphir decided that somehow people must see this wonderful thing so he tried tossing a coloured ball into the air so that it made patterns with his heart. But people only said, “Look at that strange man throwing a ball into the air.”
So he learned to throw his heart into the air with two balls. This took great skill, but still no one noticed. “Anyone can do a trick with two coloured balls!”, they said. Caphir became obsessed. “They will see!”, he would cry. And he learned to throw three coloured balls into the air, spinning around with his heart.
One day, as he practiced this feat, a child came by with his mother. The child cried, “Mother, look at the juggler. He can make magic colours in the air.”
“Juggler?”, thought Caphir. “Is that what I am? I only wanted someone to see ... but no mind, that is what I’ll be until someone really sees.”
So Caphir travelled the earth, doing his tricks and learning many more. All the time his heart dragged along behind him and he was safe only when he was making beautiful patterns with it and the brightly coloured balls.
Sometimes he would become despondent and think that no one would ever see what his feelings really were. Other times someone would say there seemed to be more balls in the air than he was juggling. Caphir would become very excited and filled with hope. But then, they would count the balls, and say he must be a very good juggler to fool their eyes so. Caphir would sigh, and go back to juggling and think how people really should look more with their hearts and less with their eyes.
Time was passing and Caphir was growing, though he scarcely realized it. He still tried to make up for his being different. When he was not juggling, he tried on many faces and different beliefs.
He let different philosophies echo around in his brain and when it was too painful for his poor scarred heart, he let some of them out as words to protect him.
In the end, he would drag his heart up from the dust, polish it on his sleeve, and tell it, “You are only good for doing tricks and then few can see you even for a second. But, I guess that second is worth it.” And he would go back to practicing.
Many years passed. Caphir became well loved for his gift for making others smile and for his gentleness, but never for his being Caphir with the incredible heart. Caphir knew that his life was nearly half over and he felt sad but resigned. His wisdom was such now that he felt he could still love the earth and all it’s beings without their truly loving all of him.
One day, after many hours of practicing, Caphir sat in one of the quiet, light places the earth provided so all its creatures could rest. All around him were balls and rings and clubs of many lovely colours. As usual, his heart lay there among them. As he was wondering what new trick might make his heart visible, a huge flying pig flew by. Caphir looked up to find her circling him.
“Would you care to stop and share my quiet place?”, he asked. “There are not too many of them left these days.”
The pig landed lightly, folded its wings and sat down beside Caphir. She looked at all the coloured balls, clubs and rings and asked, “What are these things?”.
“The tools of a juggler’s trade!”, answered Caphir.
“This one is so beautiful,” she said, “it must be very special!” And she reached down and picked up Caphir’s heart and held it. (note deletion)
Caphir was shocked and looked at her and his heart for a long time. He had not looked at his heart for many years. Now he saw how the rough treatment had gradually polished it like a stone from a streambed. It had a deep patina, had grown rich and shone like a jewel.
“You can see it?” whispered Caphir.
“Of course,” she answered with wonder in her eyes.
“How could one not see a thing so completely lovely?”
“You shall have it then,” said Caphir. “But there is this silver chain and ....?”
“I know,” she said. “But that makes it all the more wonderful.”
Caphir was astounded. It had been a very long time since he had dared to dream that such a thing could happen. He remembered that once there had been some-one who could read the stars and read eyes. She had said she knew his heart was there, tumbling along in the dust, but that, like the rest of the world, she could not see it. She saw only its reflection in his eyes. There were some few others who could see its shadow, but nothing and no one like this.
Caphir looked back at the creature beside him. Gently she placed his heart in his hands. “Here,” she said. “You will need this when you juggle, for others should still try to see. Besides, all of us have a kind of chain, so we cannot give our hearts over completely to anyone. But I will stay with you because I have looked for a very long time for some-one with this special thing.”
Caphir touched her hair and smiled. “But why have I not found you sooner?” he asked.

“Because,” she replied, “you did not come often enough to the wild places, nor did you look closely enough at the wild creatures. Some of us are different, even mighty unusual but our talent lies in our ability to love those who have exceptional hearts and exceptional love.”
Caphir stretched out his hand to the winged pig and let the sun glisten off his heart as he held it. For all he had suffered, he was deeply happy that he had chosen to keep this unusual gift. He knew there would be more pain in his life, that his heart would take a few more bumps and jolts. But now they would not be taken alone. There was someone who could share and understand his capacity for joy and sorrow, his compassion and love.
The light moved softly in the quiet place and Caphir stood up. He gathered together the balls and the clubs and the rings, and he reached out his hand to the beautiful creature beside him. Together they lifted gently into the air and flew away with Caphir’s heart lighter than he'd ever known.

I tried to put the changes in bold type but it didn't work Sorry 'bout that.

[ 04-29-2002: Message edited by: Peter Voice ]</p>

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Every time I see a pig go flying in the night,
I'm lost in purple melancholy, longing for a flight.
A longing no amount of human flying ways can fill
unanswered need confronts me like a fool up on a hill.

I cultivate sweet gratitude and know I have so much,
life's gifts surround, propelling me like gears without a clutch.
Riddled with gifts, lousy with stuff, emblistered with copious fruits,
I'm staggering under the weight of magnificent bounty and tedious truth,

Under it all twenty truckloads of gall yawhn their contents and want to know why
I'd rather be unfettered like a pig up in the sky.

[Peter Voice]

This is great fun guys, I'm just finishing a complete guide on how to make your own "Flying Pig" (complete with diagrams) and several new images for the web site (it'll take a day or 2 yet).
P.net has to be one of the world's coolest things. I can workshop a serious project with some brilliant people, worldwide, in one spot and watch chance and Martin make dickheads of themselves next door.
We should all take a moment to salute the genius of Jim (stand up then), without whom none of this could happen.
Thank you.

[ 04-30-2002: Message edited by: Peter Voice ]</p>

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Jim the pig was a buddy-loving world-whomping guy,
he was always first to dance into the air
All our lives he would lead us to new-clouded sky
we flew well when our man Jim was there.

He would glow up the room in a strong silent voice
when he looked in your eyes, life was good.
Jim could bring you up out of yourself and your noise
like a carpenter working with wood.

I loved Jim, he took his love out every night
when he flew past the pen, like a study
As a teacher, a friend, and a partner in flight
all the time, even now, like a buddy.

[ 05-03-2002: Message edited by: Mr.Taxi Trix ]</p>

[Jim]

Oink. Oink.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Oops!


Forgot the Jim connotation here. Though not an entirely inapplicable-to-JimshowJim piece, the truth of it is, that's a eulogy for my friend Jim Wiggins, who just got a better offer and left the planet.

(Which is not to say you don't glow up a room with those eyes, Jimmamatic Jimulator.)

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

Three cats and a dog on a farm in the fog were engaged in a curious puzzle.
"Listen up" said Tim Nitz, "Muff quit licking your paws, and Rolf please, would you put on your muzzle?

We are here in the sty to consider just why Filbert Fishmore befriended the sky. How could one so round girthy sudden swift become worthy sprout two small white wings and just fly?

As they pondered considering, drifting cat hair belittering the sty in the shimmering night, their debate covered much yet it did fail to touch on Fil's reason for finding first flight.

It was not some compounded big love of the rounded and reddened and quivering moon. It was not some desire to join wind and conspire to urge sand grains to form a new dune.

It was born from the books Fil kept reading in nooks, they enshrined his swine's mind, do you see? He flew off to confound in pursuit of the sound of the fine and sublime silent e.

[Peter Voice]

The Pigs have a new site, it's got selected poems by Karl, Lynneski, Robert, et al, a "How to Make Your Own Flying Pig" manual and the beginnings of "The gallery". We'll be putting up more soon but really wanted to let every-one know, couldn't wait. Maybe this post should be in "Hype yourself....".

http://www.chalkcircle.com.au/flyingpig/index.htm

Hope you like it and thanks again.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

I was walking along, of an evening last night
gently taking the air as I strolled.
Day's events cruising round were a slowdimming sight
as they wheeled through my old brain and rolled.

I was struck by a sight as I paused to observe
seven pigs floating up in the air.
But what drew my attention and caused me to swerve,
they were playing badmitton up there.

[Mr.Taxi Trix]

bliss.

On a cold winter morning, Bartholemue pig,
watching sunlight reflecting on stones
opens wings chilled and dewy, inhales deep, body screwy,
braces up, from his balls to his bones.

And the flight he commences is brilliantly flown, he's transported by illogic wish.
Tiny bird backs below him are tasty to see, as he wheels dives and scatters, it's

bliss.

[jester]

Mr Taxi Trix.

That poem was fantastic. Your linguistic abilities elastic. No limit the stretch as the image you sketch of a supersonic pig flying past it.

I think you are climbing up to a peerage on a literary level with Martin.

Now if I ever compare thee to either Rex Boyd or Martin Ewan I have really paid you a compliment. Consider yourself complimented.

[Rachel Peters]

Phan Art

"Softly in The Quiet Places"
Caphir, in my mind's eye.

nothing to do with pigs.