Wednesday, March 26, 2014


Move your mouth as if to voice a long A.
Imagine  A  outline.

One in 500 sees a color as they do this,
an image projected almost outside the body.

Not limited to letters and numbers,
Rimsky-Korsakov saw the key of C 
as white;
Scriabin, heard it red.

It’s called Synesthesia.
Feel sound. Hear color. Taste shapes.

Tuesdays are teal blue
and Mondays dirt brown.

The howl of your dog
makes your upper arm itch.

The word comes from two Greek words meaning
joined perception.

A siren speeds by and there it is again,
the taste of raspberries.

Wooden Woman thinks you are saying the alphabet
to see what letter tastes like chocolate.

Synesthesia is involuntary and automatic.

Try this: root around in your basement or garage,
find 3 large buckets.
Fill one with HOT water.
One with ice water.
The third fill with lukewarm.

Line them up—hot and cold on the outside.
Submerge the left arm all the way into the left bucket.
Right arm all the way in the right.

One warms. One cools.

Does the brain race between the two
or ride the wave?

Wooden Woman wonders: can the brain
do two things at once
or must the two 
become one 

Plunge both arms into the middle bucket.

The magenta roll of timpani
and gamboge lilt of piccolo
like a sunset.

Wooden Woman wonders
what color Faith is.

Do Works have color or sound or taste to God?

Abraham was told to sacrifice his son.
As he deliberately trudged up the hill
to that appointed place with Isaac,

was he filled with the alum taste of doubt,
did he hear the static drone of fear?

What color is perfect obedience?

What crawled through his skin
just before God’s Crimson Voice cried,


Love and obedience.
  Both hands
held in different water.

Turn a P into an R
by adding a single line

and watch that line
that purple letter
flaming yellow.

Wooden Woman just heard
someone sigh  
and whisper,
At least
I have Faith...

...not everyone has synesthesia, you know.

Wooden Woman wonders
about that bucket
in the middle
how it extinguishes the noise,
the flash of color,
the stunning demonstration
of power in each bucket.

Blue is never bluer 
than up against orange.

Wooden Woman thinks salvation
pure synesthesia

where the realization
of being completely flawed and bent around self
becomes an extended vibrato of forgiveness,
the song of heaven,
a tremendous symphony
wherein the single strike of a triangle
goes supernovae,
the starburst of praise and gratitude 

far beyond
the outstretched arms of a shout,

yet implicitly residing
like a rare scent,
it hovers near the bowed head,
and silent spine,

 and curls at last
against a bended knee.


For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known. (1 Corinthians 13:12)



thefisherlady said...

This is life... and I have felt it ... how Wooden Woman talks and shares... this Oneness.
The colour of Faith is the rainbows fullness tripled and more as the colours melt one into another and the heart is full... and one just rests with the peace, knowing.
Thank you Goat for reminding how God is and I need not worry...
Blessings dear friend

Craig and Bethany said...

Oh, wow. That last scripture perfectly punctuates. Each stanza turns on itself as if transforming into a new sensation. I almost feel what synethesia must be like in that tiny moment where both feelings happen at once. Lovely. Eternal synethesia. I can't wait.

Oh, and the pictures, unexpected accents. They hold hands perfectly with the writing.

Brian Miller said...

a vibrato of forgiveness...the alum of doubt...ha....i love synesthesia...i have written in it before...when the senses blend into something all together different....smiles....nice....