frOm FoRM art by cole 2103
Write, they say. I flounder through, fumbling life as I wait to write the thoughts I have streaming in my mind. It is too much to say all at once I see and feel and heat the internal stone of prophecy. It scares me. But I am stepping to it slowly.
I waited. I stepped back during the meditation.
My first eyes open as readiness.
Too much has con(tran)spired to be even enough, and there is a little bite of memory in many things. What is this time of looking straight at things? How many things do we have, to come to fruit on vines? They are souring. And I sit. I breathe and huff and come down as the family tree deepens its roots and grows new leaves on me.
I watch him as I watch myself. I am admiring myself in his happiness and rhythm and pleasure in things. What is the lovely awkwardness on his back?
The time to see is painful. You don’t want to see all there is of someone because everything hurts. Instead, can everything heal or does it seem to pointed? If there is duality how can there be no absolutes? What does that mean for all of us? Who can see up when there is no down?
He is the most beautiful existence of a human being I have ever seen in real life motion. There is an unknowing – unknown – unaware movement to his bones. His flesh. His life. Skin and flesh roll over itself in… what is it called when something doesn’t know itself? I forget but he is that… At times. His bones. His being. It is flow in sustainment.
(excerpt March 2014)