Day 84: After a hiatus

Smoothness in flight. But only on the way back, the return.

 

I ruminate on the red cardinal, who lately has not crossed my path. I have been looking for other signs.  Gesticulating onion skins, do they whisper a promise of intimacy?

Now, suddenly, turbulence.  Mid-air, after acknowledging its lack.  Reminding me…. Do not get too comfortable.

Day 78: Flow and resistance, a potential installation

A vision of onions continues to beckon me. In a pile. On a table. Loose skins, being moved by air.

Day 77: The non-duality of absence and presence

Monday morning:  The old man who knows Sylvia's name hobbles by and I catch his movements.  He brings me such joy, walking so slowly, one foot in front of the other in a mechanical, broken body kind of way.  He emanates difficulty in his gate, yet he persists anyway.  His old dog on a leash.  A black and white Australian Shepherd, with grey hair... and one blue eye and one brown.


Fifteen minutes later: another old man walks by in the same direction.  Long grey hair and beard, bandana, shirtless.  Seemingly exercising.

I hear the wisdom in Saturn's voice.


Ten minutes later:  the same old man, the shirtless hippy, bounces in a strange perfunctory manner outside my window in the opposite direction.  He seems to be trying his hand at jogging.

Could Saturn have a sense of humor?




In meditation practice part of "achieving" presence means sitting inside the judgment that comes with realizing failure.  Not chasing it away, but watching it, accepting it.  My daily commitment continues to wane, spaces between posts becoming larger.  There is much potential for shame.  But I also realize in this opportunity that I do not believe in hard lines. Commitments sometimes require readjusting.  I am still "here" within the space of this public form of expression...nearby anyway, at all times. Its existence continuing to provide an anchor, and that is the point. However, I do realize that I can do better.  Much has fallen to the wayside, including the garden, which is dry and full of weeds.


    

Day 72: Passage into and out

Day 71: In the interludes

These deep long spaces, held open for moths to drink.  Ones that pollinate.  While nectar accumulates, I wait.  Congruency disappearing in the gaps.

Day 70: Phantasm

I am haunted by the presence of a limb gone missing.  This rapacious want, this dire craving, makes for a dark mood.  I am only half.

Friction in Eden, at the farm.  And in the cells. 
Swirling.  And killing the butterflies. 

Day 66-69: Delirium...

...that can only come from severe lack of sleep.  I am revisiting new motherhood again, in all its inexplicable randomness and challenges to sanity.  So I water the garden, quenching a deep thirst left from several weeks of neglect and late summer heat. 

I neglect many things lately.  While dispensing a burning gaze.  Onto a world inhabited by an image.  And swarming moths.