the pelican

once more with feeling

strong winds tonight

forces. movements. waves.

the sort of wind that if you stand out in it long enough hair flapping and flying skirt over the head, cracking tree limbs and old leaves and chunks of snow and ice and gravel, the sort of wind that carries and pushes and yanks and buffets about, the sort of wind that bends flag poles and disposes of lawn furniture, the sort of wind that signals a great shift in things.

great tidal waves of force and energy. air collision.

the sort of wind you send your wishes out on.

yet sitting up in this little alcove, navel contemplation in full swing, anticipating the rhythm of the next blast against the backside of this old slanted roof, i wonder what went wrong.

wrong?

or maybe just what went.

what was that.

what it only a dream?

was it anything?

and what is this, then.

this moment of examination. this preponderance of the evidence. this analysis of what has passed, what has been, what is now and what will be.

a mystery perhaps, but only intellectually.

the heart knows otherwise.

and the gut agrees.

a rush of great emotion. still is, truth be told. still is. and it comes and goes. just like the wind.

attraction and repulsion. yin and yang. dark and light.

it can not be denied. or effectively hidden. or put to rest. turned off. ignored.
only understood through interaction. contrast and comparison.

love and fear.

rising and falling, into and out of existence.

standing out in wind like this there is a tendency there is a reaction there is a need there is the desire to remain upright to hold it all together to stay focused to stand in my own truth to push back to balance the forces that toss to hold on to stand still.

to hold the center.

or to let go. to whirl and dance and spin in the wind. to sail on a sea of troubles. not to mention tears

fighting it only results in a sense of frustration. the sense of taking a great beating. a struggle to remain immovable against the gales.

and then surrender.

the calm. the eye.

to feel the stillness within the movement.

to smell the mountains. woodsmoke. the breath of trees.

to remember.

to remember.

to be here now.

posted by: limine at 23:59 | link | comments (5) |

pomegranate juice

oh yes.

perhaps i should have known.

but it was a surprise to learn
that the underworld
would taste so sweet.

and tart.

and red.

because it’s not about how you say it,
but what you say,

and why.

for everything
is double entendre
or
the single-pointed
breath
of god.

posted by: limine at 23:02 | link | comments (1) |

Template by motime.com  |  header image credit: Markus Gann © www.begann.de