i am trying to remember how to ride the rain.
i am glowing with creation bones
with the vein of whistling trains
and the boats of uneven floating tendrils of thought
i am pushing a big bucket of soul through this saddled cage
named brain, forcing river muck through the pasteurized fields of my yearning
i am calling into the wild, surviving the tunnels of sweet sorrow-filled afternoons
that run up and down the coast, the roasted ice beams that cling to the window panes
in the morning. in the time before all things. in the space after all
i am seeing with blueberry vision and couplet fever
arranging and squeezing all little lost words together into a great playpen of subdued sanity
today the goddess is round and red and apple chinned
not alive or dead, just sitting grinning with three thousand chimneys
whistling out of her head, dancing in the silk stream of a thousand reams of newness
little bundles of her hair fall out into the grass, wind up the wind and throw it
into the shimmering coats of the evergreens, of the neverbrowns, the alwaysblues of the sky crackles, the streetlight dapples, the running yellow lines that say it’s time
to awake, to slither through the day of dreaming, the knowledge bones of what awaits, what waits, patiently, impatiently, with gentle grace, for the new race of praisers of gods, appraisers of old houses of bones and skin, sounders of the listening waves
to be born, to be born. to arise. to erase.
today, to wander into the freedom of the tide of wet, clinching, sorrowfilled weather and know that it is a passing breath. to know no breath passes, they all cling to the insides of your lungs for brief eternities before transforming themselves into the whistles of songs you haven’t yet yearned how to sing.
one day you will write everything. you will sing every song. you will dance with the fire of the ages. today you will sit blueberry still and watch the world unravel its windy watchclock and squeeze the tender thrills out of your skin to rest, to rest, to let the trees rest for a long, streaming daynight of winter. no light. just love.
all the little angels of being are squealing hello from the tops of their tips. from the topside, upside, twisty, turvy whirling white cavern of soul named today. i am named now. i am weaving a basket named me.
you’ve been hiding the rain havent you
go through the fire, hunt through the wires, gallop through the rain, tumble through the harried arrangements of sounds that recollect a day, dream and drip and drizzle your night walks with sacred journeys through the landscape of your mind. trust that everything is sacred. find the sacred and the aware and the alive everyday. feed your mind with the same attentive love and health you give your body. feed your soul with the wealth of love that drips all around you. feed your mind. look through time just far enough to open the crackling, cackling wide, violet eye of intuition that hungers beneath your skin. that is all you need, that is what you must nurture, sustain, retain, release and rebirth. always always, i must look to find where the creative river is pouring through what strain of my body’s reviving cells, and what the great, silent blinking intuition eye within my chest is shouting louder than any word. follow, follow, follow. find. receive. GIVE. nurture. relinquish. rebirth.
i am wet and weary with words again. thank god.
and 2012. bring it on. bring it up. purge it from the soiled, polluted tracks of art in my blood. bring it out, shake it out of me. awaken me to the new year. to the new blood and bones of the same sweet, sacred soulfire we all breathe from. out and back and around. and then up.