Who I am is really a response…a response to the world, a response to the now… a cascade of feelings, sensations and actions, the elocution of two hands, a tongue and a pair of lips; a catalyst of change.
I am ability for the world to self-destruct or self-correct, to heal. I am either flowing in accord with the organic patterns of life, or I am operating according to the short-circuited patterns of a skull-enclosed mind, closed-off from the mind at large.
So I decenter myself, that this body may be in right relationship with life. (Not right and wrong in the big daddy in the sky kind of way. There are expedient and inexpedient ways, healthy and unhealthy, loving and violent, sustainable and entropic.)
I listen, instead of competing.
I learn, instead of defending.
All self-reflection is in service of birds, of water.
Life rewards me with sweet songs, with quenching.
I ask you “what if there is more to life that you”? How do you go on living?
How do you reconcile with a Beyond that’s here and now? Do you despair?
And what about I-and-I? Isn’t what’s left to calibrate our hearts and put our hands to work for the vision that dances before our eyes when we regard each other?
Aren’t we same-same in our gossamer when we ride the selfsame sunbeam? The skin and breasts and curls between us all the more shimmering, a texture to run fingers across, a softness for our animal to rest its head.
Our hurt, differences and disagreements aren’t not here, I don’t deny them. It’s just that the scent of you anchors me deeply in the love I feel for Life, this precious open oyster-shell of time between eternity. You are, like me, nothing like cyclamen, growing unnoticed in the crack of a shady, rocky slope. You are, for me, nothing like carpenter bees, like diatoms, like wind-and-clouds and sand under bare feet. Together we are Málaga grapes picked from the vine and eaten, ravenously; laughter among friends.