I feel it all the
Time slips through my Fingers strumming a broken String tangled up in Knots bulging out of her Back in the day when life was Easy does it, sweetheart, just Relax the curls by applying Heat rises up in waves from the Pavement imprinted by tiny Feet buried deep in the Sand bags holding back Water falling from the Sky-colored dresses on Bodies in a single-file Line their pockets with Money isn't everything.
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She pressed 'play,' and the world went around and around - it was a dancer; an astronaut in her inner space; a creature of the sea, tentacles outstretched for a strange embrace.
She moved her legs, and she jumped up and down, up and down - she was a surfer on the moon's face; skipping along the squares of a checkerboard, all gray; twirling up soppy, green strands of overcooked spaghetti. She made paint, splattered color on the walls and the sky and the ground - nothing sat in boxes anymore; all the walls transformed to doors; she dove into tunnels where there used to be hardwood floors. She stretched her limbs out in a million new directions, tied them loop-de-loop, like twine - she shot herself like a bungee ball, watched her body unwind; fell to rainbows in the kitchen sink; swung down the drain on a jungle vine. She washed away, candy crusted solid on the horses nose - she fed the leprechauns lemon-flavored holly-pops; danced in the Christpatrick's Day alien parade; a universe of colors inversed, bleeding down the staircase of her mind. She pressed 'play,' and the rubber-boned queen erased the outlines. I could be anywhere, this
reflection of me staring back from the blacks of your eyes, same gray sky, fuzzy against the edges of your new life. Street sounds fading in the background of that face -- eyes closed, sleeping on a mountainside single bed, dripping sweat, middle of the night twenty-hour bus ride, chair reclined. We've been everywhere, incidentally, accidentally, by chance: that thing that we had, before it slipped through our hands. The way you held mine, I remember the first time on the dark blue streets of somewhere with blurred lines -- we could be anywhere. But we stand, incidentally, accidentally, by chance on the street right here staring at the fragments of a phantom romance. Sweet Release
Finger by Finger by Fist -- Let it go. White knuckles Flushed with blood. Bit by Bit by All of it -- Release. Constricted being Set free. Beat by Beat by Symphony -- Let it sing. Deaf ears Open to music beneath. Drip by Drop by Deluge -- Let it flow. Desert soul Swells to an ocean. Wave by Wave by Rising tide -- Ride, child, ride. Silent stillness Gives way to life. Welcome to poetry month! I've challenged myself to write a poem a day and will post them here. Below are days 1-3, definitely influenced by time, space and my constant movement through them. Join in if you dare! It's fun, I swear :)
April 1 - The Enormity of It 'What's your favorite part?' The enormity of it... Can't be surmised Without eyes, ears, feet and nose On the pulse of it, Without tasting every molecule With one's own tongue. The lines have been blurred Between expected responses: Countries, cities, streets. The enormity of it... When you step outside. The breath it steals As it shrinks down To home size - Where you've laughed and loved, Laid your head down and cried, Where you've found yourself And what it means to be alive. Up, not always up.
I, like the sky, Have fallen. Your smile, too, Is impermanent, Your cartoon outlines Melting, sliding down The long walls of The bottomless pool Of human emotion. Just like that -- splash Bathed in humanity. See my arms outstretched, Even when they're not, Even when you're far away. I too have swum In the depths of that pool But I did not drown. For I could see Your arms outstretched Even in the darkness. Reflections from a long and powerful meditation on the waterfront in Queenstown, New Zealand. A tree is the ultimate teacher in the practice of meditation. A tree spends its existence sitting in its own silence, even amidst the noise and chaos that surrounds it. In contact with the earth at all times, it excels at stillness, only its branches, like hair, blowing in the wind. It never ceases to breathe -- it exists to breathe -- taking in carbon dioxide and exhaling the oxygen that is required for our life. In this way, the tree exists in a state of giving, whatever the world requires for joy and life: oxygen, shade, shelter, wood, recreation. It doesn't question its purpose on earth, to provide these things, It doesn't stop breathing, being. It doesn't open eyes to gaze out at the chaos with any sense of judgement. It sits, rooted in the earth, and breathes -- even when the bees swarm, the rain falls, the children climb, the young woman leans against its trunk to read. In silence, it sits and breathes, never ceasing its powerful meditation. In this stillness, this silence, it exudes life; it emits from it energy, smells, colors, soft rustling, fresh air, in which all those in witness rejoice. The tree is respected, revered, a subject of dreams and poetry, though it has never spoken a word. The tree will exist in this state of joyous nirvana until a power greater than it ends its life. If you want to meditate but are struggling to find your own silence in the midst of life's chaos, try sitting beneath a tree. Gaze upon it and extend to it a thanks for its life-sustaining gifts and deep wisdom. And then join in its meditation, Close your eyes and breathe along with the tree, focusing on your constant exchange of oxygen for carbon dioxide, rejoicing in the symbiotic nature of your relationship -- the pattern of giving and receiving that underlies every moment of our lives. In contact with the earth, perhaps even the roots of this tree, sink deeper into this feeling of security. Feel as the breeze blows your hair along with the branches of the tree, or note how its absence leaves you both in total stillness. Embody the tree, with every sound and other reminder of the external chaos, sink deeper into your internal silence, your stillness. Know that, like the tree, you are a beautiful component of the landscape, emitting energy to any form of life that may surround you.
This is your purpose, and you fulfill it with ease. There is no need to open your eyes now, for in your internal stillness, you bear witness to the entire cosmos; you are the cosmos. In this knowing, you are filled with a sense of bliss and exist only to breathe. Oxygen in -- thanking the tree -- and carbon dioxide out, returning the gift of life. You have found balance, a state that always exists within you. You and the tree are one, mirrored parts of the same life force. You exist in this state of joyous nirvana for as long as you please. You are free, you are the tree. You skipped like stones along the whites of my bones, sunk down where they're hollow (except for you). Walking along the beach, every creak of my knees, I hear you calling. One, two, three...to nine! I never skipped like that before. Nobody here to see. But I know you know, down in my bones -- with a flash of my teeth, you show me. I skipped all the round ones, the flat ones, the light but misshapen ones. All the blue ones, then the green ones, and the black ones with white spots. Rust-colored, marbled; heavy and smooth -- those always seem to fly the farthest. All the stones from the beach and the stones from the shore until deep beneath the water, I couldn't see them anymore. I wonder how long before they find their way home, and will they be the same? Or will the rough ones come back smooth and the black ones gray; the round ones flat and the green ones blue; the heavy and misshapen ones broken in two? Slowly, coldly, lapped back upon the shore, left to wonder if the stones they are now are the stones they were before. He was a proficient skipper, no less than four, with a technique that contributed to my learning. Something in his eyes said, 'Shoot from the hip,' while his mouth just smiled. We shared a hug, no handshake, with fists full of stones. He motioned toward the shore where just yesterday I had evacuated all the stones. I smiled and pointed the other way, not ready to see if they had yet returned and if so, what condition the journey left them in. He stayed, and I wandered on, skipping stones in his direction.
It that all it takes? One breath of this outside air, exhaled toward the rising horizon. To the blue on blue monsters from which I can't avert my eyes. Will they watch me while I'm sleeping? I can't go home now, the sky is leaking, and I sense the road is perilous, for one. Breakfast for one, lunch for one, table for two. The trees that line the beach build a home for my single occupation. Now everybody looks my way -- black on black as night, they watch me breathing, every inhale deepening, and say: Isn't that strange? Or nothing at all, it's always nothing at all. Drop my eyes to stones the color of sky and wonder how they got there. Pile them up and put the towers in my pockets, it keeps me on the ground. Not good for swimming, but I like the clacking sound as I skip around. Then? Moment after moment for me to fill with anything. Rest my eyes on the snowless peaks and wonder how it would feel to share them. Dinner for one, no dessert. The world is sweet as it is, any more would make my heart hurt.
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AuthorChicago-born citizen of the globe, rich in the things that really matter. Let's get weird. Categories
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