Day 65: Commencing

moments modified

a spiraling into red,
gold. a resistance


moths swarm the cat litter

Days 61-64: Failure...

...to stay on course.  Somewhat.  The tension of the square at work:  liberation and restriction.  But promises fade, despite the constance of the discipline.  These days I exist mindfully.  I am [mostly] present.  And not thinking to make words about it.

Day 60: Fitting

a congruency
under skin, and out of hair
no weeping,
only

Day 59: Possession

Reading tall tales of fortune-tellers and wicked girls.  And floating in a language not mine, but mine to be had.  “Mine.”  The word of the month.  Spoken incessantly by S who wants to possess the world, including me.  I am hers.  But unbound.

Day 58: Swooning...

...over Isabel's words:


You think in words; for you, language is an inexhaustible thread you weave as if life were created as you tell it.  I think in the frozen images of a photograph.  Not an image on a plate, but one traced by a fine pen, a small and perfect memory with the soft volumes and warm colors of a Renaissance painting, like an intention captured on grainy paper or cloth.  It is a prophetic moment; it is our entire existence, all we have lived and have yet to live, all times in one time, without beginning or end.

Day 57: Craft

falling for nine days and nine nights
and forged under a volcano

Day 56: Swirling

a whirlpool, moving out
into intentioned waters

Day 55: Lightness?

I ascend… only to encounter a slaughter.

The bodies of hundreds of dead ladybugs on the floor of the the loft of the treehouse.

Day 54: Smoldering

Fire makes its way out through dead skin cells.

Day 53: Convergence

Another day in trees on sanctified land.  But marked by dissimilar intentions and a distinctly different community…. Worlds merge and tension mounts. My pores bleed out the inner, and the outer holds an inaccurate reflection.

Though the red cardinal keeps crossing my path.  An indication?

And so I seek water…  

Day 52: Arriving home

An arial shot of myself.  Looking through windows… a distanced view. Of scars and fractures and cast shadows.

Day 51: Taking leave of the Earth

Day 7 at Hambidge

Day 50: Currents

Day 6 at Hambidge


the wind dances, in
hot, humid air, not breathing
but holding...lightness

Day 49: Pairings

Day 5 at Hambidge
more from the Medical Terminology Study Card Set:


the deposition of semen within the female reproductive tract
the study of blood
thick speech

Day 48: Removal of breath

Day 4 at Hambidge

A flock of bees outside my cabin door, in the Liriope jungle.... swarming, humming, pollinating... 

Day 47: The lived body

Day 3 at Hambidge

pinned to the walls...

Day 46: An aliveness in the darkness

Day 2 at Hambidge

I mistook it for an empty shell....

Day 45: Arrival and a sign?

the front door to my studio/cabin... stuck between the screens 


Day 1 at Hambidge

Day 44: Melancholy contentment

For breakfast–– A ringing of the Sunday bells.  An ease in the morning after good rest.  A trust in what is…  The cardinal visited again while Billie Holiday was singing her song. 

Day 43: Madness

a leaving of self?


behind, yet coming to...


Day 6: leaving Lama

Day 42: Approaching departure

the withdrawal home.

sugar, respirator, and
whole salted blossom


Day 5 at Lama

Day 41: Deep Venus space

A line calls forth in the ground.  After ants swarm.  And until ants swarm again.  A subtle gesture, unearthing food.  


Day 4 at Lama

Day 40: Coming into being

Stillness steeping.  A merge into sky, stars, vapor.  The distanced view of rain provides a new perception, a deeper understanding of my spiritual agoraphobia.  An observation anyway. In the old growth, largeness.  A reinforcement of self-importance, of ego.  Here, vastness, smallness, inconsequentiality.  And therein lies the discomfort. 

But a concert mounts. Between myself, and the lightning, and the itinerant rains…between the pines,the Sufi spirits, and even the hard ground.


Day 3 at Lama

Day 39: In the desert

A serene view of limitless ground.  Of canyons, buttes, mountain plains.  I sip coffee while shrouded in a cloud and the sun touches down ahead, onto the rolling green river.  An intense ocular sensation.

I come to understand my preference for the old growth rainforest.  Cutting out vision heightens other senses.  Here, it is impossible not to gaze upon the immense earth with winded veneration.  Though a separation exists within the distanced view.  Here, there.  Me, mountain.  And I too much feel my selfness when walking on firm ground and when such immense blue swarms overhead.  Exposed to sky, and not sinking into land. 

when my vision is masked,
an openness.  With vastness,
an uncertainty.

Of my place.  But all of it.  An illusion.

Clearly there is an elegant energy here.  The legacy of Ram Dass and other spiritual teachers who have inhabited this land over the years…their presence passes through the morning vow of silence and other rituals.

Day 2 at Lama

Interlude

A doorway. Tomorrow I may glimpse where it goes.

Day 38: Beginning

vacant swings, a vast
rolling river of ground, and
a missing of parts


Day 1 at Lama