Greetings, Clan o the heart, Walkers of the wordless, Tribe de ecstatic stillness, silliNess sereNaders...and weLcome home

Sunday, May 8, 2011

unKoan

Quiet assimilation in the early hours. I pick up the journal that was once my bridge between spirit and home, and the words have lost meaning. The moon thickens daily, passes still among layers of clouds that hide an astrophile's quest. On the verge of explosion, i breathe, renewing the contracts again, again. I stop for a moment to wonder what will happen with this new sharing, possibilities of creation flood my mind. I hope that i can continue to play with authenticity, releasing the habit of molding myself to reach a certain destination. Sometimes i feel outnumbered by those deep carved synaptic hiways. I blink, seasons change, and we are now on a whole other level. The daily tasks hold me fast with a kind of sticky pleasure and i offer my wandering mind to their mundane ritual.  I am flooded with tears receiving the gifts of mothering: someone else's words beside a pink print of Aleia's right hand, tea parties, her hugs as my words fuse with emotion. Death bleeds from me, an acrid tinge into blooming sweetness.

Monday, May 2, 2011

tulips

Today the earth sorts people, cultures, like archaeology moves dirt and relics with a sifter. In our delirious training toward eternal life, we crack and pour among the stretching and prayer of this mother-body, hoping for a sign. Our gathering signals the flowers as the songs of birds speak into the ear of spring. Again the moon courts seclusion and the grey sky bows, akimbo, to the spreading smile of me.
This sacred conglomerate of flesh and calcium delivers me into the arms of everything. I writhe in paradox and take pleasure in becoming the worm who, when pinched directly, has the chance to go in two directions simultaneously. My mind plays along the edges of waters whose depth holds the enigma of a man whose game caught the eye of the world; violence. The shore is prickly beneath my bare winter feet. My daughter sits calmly waking. We turn on the TV and catch images of a palace burning, hear the story of death specifically demarcated between other and self at a national level. She expresses sadness with a straight face.