this

the flow of this river

the completeness of this you

the fullness of this very now

ice leaves

this holy closure

this empty containment

of summer

so like light

there is

(in the form

of an object)

a truth

that points

away

from itself

so like light

we can't help ourselves

we can't help but sing the beautiful words

each time we poke our heads above the clouds

of expectation

and look around

so . . . .

linda sue's brother flew away . . .

so i'm sad for my friend . . . .

steven

this very red

this red

like a mouth

an opening

into a world within this world

the other side

you might guess that

through the spaces

i see water air

the other side

and a place i don't know well

the truth

there's something in the smeared reflection of trees that seems somehow more truthful to them

than the gaunt leafless spindly bodies that scratch against the sky

and are even now absorbing the heat of a premature summer day

that's thawing their sweet lifeblood

and drawing out the buds of their becoming

lüüp see you in me

available on itunes

braided

haller lake

all things

they pulled the sky closer

even as my body rose

between their outstretched fingers

and i saw

the bare hills

rippling

into the distance

and wondered

at the ends

and beginnings

of all things

the circle

my body

somehow knowing to gauge the space

to measure and ensure the necessities of staying aloft even for this one small moment

me, stretched wide

as thin wings would allow

my tight fingered flight feathers twitching little arabesques

i glided

and then settled

into the wordless circle

love is a place

love is a place

and through this place of

love move

(with brightness of peace)

all places

yes is a world

and in this world of

yes live

(skilfully curled)

all worlds

e.e. cummings

these are

these are the colourful webs

let's call them "ourselves"

let's even call them "us"

these are the beautiful spaces in-between

let's say these are the ways

we choose to "be"

let's call them "being"

is

never mind the "when" or "if" or "perhaps" of life

all of this

is

it very simply

is

there is only one moment

we stop

and hold the very little moments

feeling

their strength

and then also their fragility

so like eggs

and in the warmth of the hands of our souls

the insistent pecking

of wholeness

makes itself felt

and then quickly visible

in the tiny cracks

that radiate outwards

and then inwards

all

in the same

moment

margaret

i live in a very small family as a result of which, each member has a more

pronounced effect on the other members of the family.

fortunately i have been blessed with a family comprised of strong, interesting, constantly questioning, curious, creative, talented, clever people who live their lives in their own entirely unique way and each bring their own version of goodness into the world.

today is (my aunt) margaret's birthday.

margaret is my only aunt . . . and i lucked out because she was the cool aunt . . . you know, the person who dropped the important books . . . siddhartha, and steppenwolf, a book of dali prints at exactly the right time

to wake me up to the worlds beyond this world . . .

she was the person who took me to europe in the middle of my messed up teen years and made sure that i saw berlin - east and west, amsterdam, koln, and many places i had read about or heard about and which suddenly became entirely real and colourful.

margaret created a space that my own parents couldn't - through no fault of their own - that allowed me to grow beyond my own limitations.

and to be clear, i am very grateful for her existence beyond what she has provided me!

the world is a richer place for her incredible food, her kindness, her gardens, and so much more!

happy birthday margaret!!!

dear world

lay your ribbons

throw your stars

slide your lights

across the skin of me

let me do

what i know to do

and ask no questions

tell no lies

be as real

as you imagine

i am

yesterday

yesterday began

as if i'd already lived it

and i spent much of it

breathing life

into the nothingness

of each moment

willing it into a sort of torpor

that barely approximated life

and yet

tomorrow arrived

in all its barefaced and cold glory

regardless

actually being

"you just don't seem your self"

i'm always so grateful to hear those words

-

sitting still long enough to be definable

holding still long enough to be contained

being still long enough to be nameable

my name has been signed on so many dotted lines

when have i ever wished that upon myself or anyone i loved

and yet

there's evidence everywhere i look

that this is a commonplace aspiration

because then the relational dovetails

that are so sought after

"oh you'll love him he's so funny!"

are that much easier

that much closer to the certainty

that simplifies

that unclutters the messiness

of actually being

the rest of this world

i remember the scale

the immensity

the effort

the fortune spent

in soulwork and cash

and especially the frequent stumbling

as i rose up from the ground

of my experiencing

i remember the wondering glances

that smeared my face

each time i looked around

especially when my head rose

so briefly above the clouds

and i saw

visions

(well i thought i was having visions)

because i didn't know

that what i was seeing

weren't entirely visions

as much as

i was simply seeing

the rest of this world

form and life

you can draw aside the emptiness

determine that it's not for you

and still give it a name

you can call it home

call it marriage

call it solitude

call it a career

and you can dance inside the name

of the thing named

for as long as is reasonable

and what's reasonable?

well, namer and describer of emptiness -

only you

can set the terms

of that

which you have named

and given form and life to

undeniable necessity

there's an undeniable necessity for me to form and bend and twist my outer self around each new sense of myself and somehow this body, this heart, this mind listens and feels and knows to bend and reform and i'm entirely certain that underneath its twisting convoluted bone flexed skinshape there's something other that stays constant and attached to the roiling curling sinuous form that surrounds it . . . and represents it even in this world of light and colour and cost and value and wish and need . . . . and i love this namelessness . . this otherness . . this me but not me-ness that uses my earthly form, this representation of my self as a means to an end i couldn't possibly comprehend stretched as it is across this utter and thorough faceless and timeless completeness . . . .

north star

so much appears in the course of living that has a life of its own exclusive of association and condition and

this piece of music from robert fripp's 1979 album "exposure" is an example of such a beast!!

this song has sustained itself on the back of the incomparable improvised vocals of daryl hall . . .

unexpectedly soft and sweet and edgy and best experienced in the moment of its experiencing . . . .

peel

the black cherry girltree

that lives at the front of this house

opens herself up each winter

as the frosts pull and heave

at her old skin

as the layers pull back

and reveal an even deeper richness

i wonder what her heart must be like

your self

set aside

your very smallest

most easily overlooked

gift

and gently

without tearing the tissue paper

open it up

let it see the light of this day

and call it your self

glass and ice

when the rain falls

and the air is cold enough for it to turn into ice when it lands

my windows become a playground for light and shape and colour

the us of ourselves

you are so in the very moment of this time

so completely in and of this place

and you are stretched thinner than water

until transparent and pure

your body dancing and pulling

the tender strings of the sky

the trees

the frozen ground

the snow

the ice

the warm breeze

the crows

the warm blackened whispers

of the crows

all drawn

into your hips and eyes

and tightening the whole into a web

so thorough

and so contained that nothing

not any thing

could stand between us

and this one emerging moment

of the us of ourselves

recognition

time and place and presence and being are tangled so entirely that for a long - a very long - moment i chose to deceive myself into believing that i could not only tell them apart but actually ignore one for the other.

the truth is . . . i cannot see one without the other . . . and they are in my own knowing . . . the first layers of understanding . . . of representing not only that we are here but why we are here . . . and so my work . . . if work it is . . . is very much in what might poetically be termed "the nascent stage" . . . . it's a beautiful, chaotic, comforting, sometimes melancholy, sometimes joyful place . . .

humbling also . . .

the sky above

they lock fingers

and arms

faces brush and

shift closer as they

whisper ancient rustling songs

that curl in and around

their wondering hearts