I came across a song today, sitting alone in the forest…praying to the black moon of newness…saying let me cut off the crust of the old earth and find my fleshy way through the murk and mayhem of the mud to feel that ferny, fecund finality of the freshness of soul. To find the little essence of wind curling around every creation. To tuck my nobbly nose into the nodding head of every mute manifestation and listen to their vibrant voices. Their tingly sensations of being a being. The strange music of knowledge knowing itself into form. The bizarre form of bodies that claim themselves to be individuals. The desolate wide arms of autumn claiming every green thing for its color cascade. Its parade of soulful innocence. The ramparts of freedom that want to rip from every spine of wood that clogs the forest halls with silent sliding statements of slender bark and bone. Eat the miles tying you to the rain and dissolve your brain into the satisfying, crippling drain of being a moment. Of being a breath. Of being anything that does not, cannot ever fully comprehend its own self. It’s own unfathomable, limitless mystery. The divine unconscious of the swimming sensation of form. The sweltering heat of meat as it drips and drives your boney tendrils. Your bodily wealth of weary eye lights and tumbling highway surfing. All the lights and all the trees and all the colors of the breeze. This being a human thing is quite the adventure, I’d say. Thanks, universe.
“Life begins anew, it begins naked and small and comes from love; it takes root in the desert and all that we have done and built, all our cities and factories, all our great art, all our thoughts and all our philosophies, all this will not pass away. It’s only we that have passed away. Our buildings and machines will fall to ruin, the systems and the names of the great will fall like leaves, but you, love, you flourish in the ruins sow the seeds of life in the wind.”
Be the beneficent breeze.