Tag Archives: memory

Those Thieves Who Wake Me Up

Rather than being overwhelmed by the number of writers writing their hearts out
I could join them in this hang gliding,
this trench digging,
this tree trimming.

Rather than be jealous, or fearful, which are the same thing, like fraternal twins,
I could pull together these years of punctuation like flotsam on the river in spring breakup:
Ice flows are temporary and edited by seasonal heat
and riverbanks
and each other
and the lake at the mouth churning milky, milky brown.

This trimming happens at night, too,
when I dream of desperate lads stealing my hard drive
and wake up remembering I have an external back up.
Maybe the back up is the love of others for the punctuation and other signs of life.
Back up is remember.
Love does remember me.

My heart is climbing to my throat.
The green place in my throat where my voice purrs quietly waiting
is married to the green place in all the other throats.

The spring heat is present at night when it is still cold but not freezing.

I love those thieves who wake me up to what I forgot I had.

Photon Street

DSCN4856.JPGStart at the beginning of now
to deal with the beginning
of the long ago
that got stuck
DNA fear
no refuge found.

And the playing.
The children have truly arrived in the new land,
playing again.

I can ask for help.
I can pray
like this:
Dear divine place and thing and possibility and holder
and dear dear
Dear magnificence
Dear big

Dear microscopic knower of the handbag of the photon
What you got in there?
What you got?
Potential.

Potential in a little photon’s handbag.
Standing there at the little photon bus stop –
looking up at the sun above the little photon buildings
and trees,
little photon birds flying past
like a sweet whistle of a memory.
On photon street, here comes the bus,
here comes the photon bus driver.
Here is the photon bus pass displayed,
that little photon photo ID.

Dear divine speck,
May I feel you,
may I experience the wondrous sensation of your movement,
tiny universal packet of power shooting through me
en route through my little city of wonders,
my gathering of souls of patience
and humour and play.

Hello Shark

Hello Shark
This is me calling. I see I thought you were gone,
that the past is not also here, that you are not eternal.
(You are, as long as people have imagination.)

Hello Shark
You have never been cute, not even when you were born with teeth and cutting fin.
Your streamline is with purpose; you cut through much description.

Hello Shark
When I was fighting you, I was afraid. How does one take care of one’s shark?
You say:
Swim anyway, but do not expect the water to be safe,
do not bleed senselessly, senseless, needlessly.
Be a shark as well. Sharks do not fear and are capable of ecstasy.
Honour your sensitive receptors – electrical stimulation of the finest gauge, sense blood at a distance.
A caress is overwhelming, causing a swoon and a sinking further into the depth.

Hello Shark
I heard you were about justice, about deserved vengeance – seeking – rightly seeking vengeance.
That is quite a nature! Rather Godly, sayeth The Lord.
But how else may we perceive the teeth of God’s justice except as decisive, incisive.

Hello Shark
I’m not sure where to keep you.
Recently the mermaid was occupying the swimming pool, but maybe you get along; I haven’t visited that chapter.
I keep my shark in the ocean and remember:
The rivers that meet salt water can accommodate such a predator – predating, and pre-dating other forms of hunter by a long shot.
Salt rivers are blood in the body coursing; current events happen here.

Hello Shark
I welcome you o-fish-all-y to my wakening and expect that you expect my tremors.
So, I shan’t apologize for my fear and thrill.
Let me know when it’s time.

Shark

Dreams are the poems of science

I have a body, or perhaps I am a body, or perhaps a body has me.
In recent dreams I am so much in the body I can’t remember the dreams, events of sensation that pass as soon as they occur.
I believe this is a healing.
I am tired.
No prefrontal cortex need be involved to make meaning from the sleeping experience.
No mammalian brain is stimulated, and the reptilian?
It seems the body has its own brain: the location of body thought is in the cells and perhaps in subtle fields, and wraiths of experience are untraceable, but they exist.
They exist like anything else fleeting and untraced, untracked, registered and gone with no print, a healing trail read only in the better, the good, the relieved, the lessening of pain, the presence of hope and possibility.
We bend our heads, listening, looking, smelling, sensing, to understand and come into alignment with the healed, suspended in a state we cannot understand, and that’s a good thing.