I Was There

I was there at the beginning of it
Or maybe I was the beginning of it.
It seemed to have begun on the day that I thought  
I could float to class,
Something of a lemony sensation on the soles of my feet.
I had seen in the rooms nearby,
Art materializing,
Creations that required no responsibility or justification
Were happening, absolutely
Without explanation or prelude,
All manner of expressions where welling and birthing  
They needed no reason,
And were accepted with the muted voice of a nod and smile.
But implicit in the creation was an implied danger and newness
Magma flowing to the surface, hot and radiant
Coursing down mountainsides
Filling valleys  
Sparking new land and fire.
There was a woman who told me that she had epilepsy
But that she did not take medication
Because her seizures gave her such vivid images
And she used them as her muse.
I loved her for this fearless wantonness
And feared her for it too.
There were streams of uncertainties,
There were seismic shiftings to catch like the next wave,
There were parchments upon which I could
Write the next line.
I was there.
I was.