Wednesday, December 30, 2009

trees grow with the flow

We move together in rhythm with our lungs, holding the tension of years of misrecognition ready to become undone. Stepping forward as we look back at all of the words we would retract if we only had known the way those seeds would grow into distrust.

With an inhale of faith we take one step before another whose face we almost recollected from our soul's mirror. I recognized in you then the middle of a friendship I had been longing to find home within.

We ran together past the beginning, exasperated but diving into the depths of a sea, hoping our histories would hold enough air for us to breathe in each moment to one another's future.


We are bounded by blood, we share DNA, double time rhythm skipping climbing the two of us til we get stranded in the program of our hearts, the coding of our speech, the unfolding of our knowing before we ever knew that together we would sing.



We don't trust enough. The weight of our wings keeps us fighting the sky and being tempted by gravity. Let us help each other remember to sing and dance as we fly alone, following the stream of our flow back to a place that we would like to call 'home.'


birds like water

I fly at night amongst the air currency of anonymous angels, those with familiar faces but faded names. And I land on shores that house the spirits of other attempters, other birds who travelled this far to see that there is an infinite horizon that swallows the sun.

The brightest star falls daily, into the sea, in love with the heart of an open earth. A cavernous well filled with wishes to be born again swells with the rhythm of the moon's sleep. Pulled with the movement of a satellite's constancy, stretching to reach further, receding to collect more strength, the lungs of a body beat incessantly.

I live with the presents of mind that have been gifted through the generosity of teachers and expanded by friends. I walk with a silent intensity that notices how the pulse of a stranger echos in footsteps on the cement, and I hear the patience of a tree as it grows slowly--deeper into the soil, higher into the night, open to the air and inviting the morning light.

Dawn breaks me too frequently. Noon catches me by surprise. The resignation of day light into the ground reminds me that sometimes the only way out is down.

Birds can take lessons from the water.

The rest comes from knowing how to love one's reflection as it ascends into the sea.

Oceans--still--float above me.


Monday, December 7, 2009

Response: une mere de glace

I have a gaze that speaks to subjects, matter of fact it creates objects, and it does so well in this task because my eyes are mirrors. Une Mere De Glace as another has cast herself-the ice sea reflects what your eyes see. This is not a day of transcendence for me, but a moment of death, caught in eternity without movement toward future possibilities for being in the world authentically.

I've been framed for the ways I stretch myself like canvas to touch you. Across many states of love affairs, this is the picture of distance. Still. Looking back at you without expressing the feelings you have painted on your chest. I don't write on my skin what I breathe through my speech. I told you about love and my deliberate intentionality. My mantra has been a list of affirmations that outline a glimpse of reality. You traced it so well through your projections, but machines can't fill in the rest. A lonely heart lacks the color scheme to see a present moment with sufficient depth.

So the peace is colored blue, orange, and green--perhaps it should have remained white in your eyes. Now I see you looking at me, craving to be painted into my iris again. Unfortunately, my canvas has been ripped at the seams of my heart too harshly.

I hardly remember what love means.