So much of life seems to be about “seeing.” What constitutes the contents of our vision? The images that come before our eyes we many times take for “truth” without any consideration that what it is that we are “seeing” is already set within an environment set by personal, cultural and historical elements that “identify” and name these images along prescribed lines of familiarity.…
Pregnant Return (9 months)
Groping outward into mirky memories
Shall “you” stay there, will I insist?
Holding onto a beautiful picture
That has broken its frame and fallen…or Risen?
Shall I allow that “face” to turn away
Into another turn, where saints glide without boundaries?…
Speaking to the Wind
Streaming in currency of musical scale
You carve out a space with invisible touch
Kissing the flames in tiers of terse color
You smoke and burn the dew-dampened wood
You move without sight, yet blinded are not
Feeling your way in chime and song
Moaning and singing without a distinction
You play in the trees with ceaseless vibration
You light and lift the garment of Soul
With hymns that flit in patterned frivolity
Dancing in death, you stifle a breath
Held short but a while, then released in new naissance
Would you lift up the dust into storms of asymmetry
Converging the earth as if Life could stand still?…
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It occurs to me that something new can be unforeseen…
Invisible space stretched out, unfolded and naked.
Whispers of wine and confetti – forlorn, bereft and beneath –
A citadel of sightlessness…provocative nascence.
Is my story the game? “No” says the real.…
Can you find your face in the clarity of stillness?