What do I know about the world?
Only stories, truths or dramas,
what bears repeating.
Something I know now,
about entering the dark closet of the mind
silently
and letting the will speak as water
that seeks the lowest point.
Without words it falls, saying, there you are.
As entering a thermal pool
I put my body and heart in the hands
of the unnameable
and let striving dissolve
among the heat and ripples
and the softness of silt.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Broken Bow
In a dream I found myself sitting on the lap of a friendly, tall young man, and torquing around to the left to kiss him on the lips, I think a total of 5 times. These were heart kisses, kisses of appreciation, kisses that made full heart contact. Then I looked down to my left and saw my violin bow on the ground, broken and covered with a thin layer of moss in the area around the break. In the dream, I remember clearly enunciating the phrase, "My bow is broken."
Broken like a horse, I think, broken to my heart's desire, as when the horse and the rider are absorbed in the passion of covering the hills. I've wrestled with the bow, forced its horse tail hairs over the notes, skidded it willy nilly over the strings striking freakish sounds, holding on for dear life. I didn't play for about a month, my neck and my arm and wrist were hurting me, so I just didn't concern myself with violin, I was busy with other things. I've come back to it to find my right side has figured a few things out. For instance, when the bow hairs hit a note, it's like the bow, through my arm, is giving the string a kiss, you could say it sweets it, and I have strength for all these kisses. That is until last night when I fell down the stairs, and now my arm hurts again. But I dreamed I saw myself playing, and I saw the way my bow arm was moving effortlessly, and was surprised because it looked right. And I think I was wearing a hat like Sam Duffy.
Broken like a horse, I think, broken to my heart's desire, as when the horse and the rider are absorbed in the passion of covering the hills. I've wrestled with the bow, forced its horse tail hairs over the notes, skidded it willy nilly over the strings striking freakish sounds, holding on for dear life. I didn't play for about a month, my neck and my arm and wrist were hurting me, so I just didn't concern myself with violin, I was busy with other things. I've come back to it to find my right side has figured a few things out. For instance, when the bow hairs hit a note, it's like the bow, through my arm, is giving the string a kiss, you could say it sweets it, and I have strength for all these kisses. That is until last night when I fell down the stairs, and now my arm hurts again. But I dreamed I saw myself playing, and I saw the way my bow arm was moving effortlessly, and was surprised because it looked right. And I think I was wearing a hat like Sam Duffy.
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