I am floating face down in a horizonless body of water. My eyes are open; I seem to be balanced in the center of a giant labyrinthine sphere. Like an octopus, or a circular net with ends stretching down, down, beyond all comprehension. Somehow I can breathe.
All the rootpaths below me are in constant motion. I dive between, in the unfixed spaces that surround them. I sense that they are hollow, that they lead somewhere, but I can’t locate the wormhole. The orb turns, whorling, gathering me into its patterned dance.
I am nowhere in space in time. I sit thousands of feet above the sea, star-covered, as I swim inside the ocean’s womb. I don’t understand how to locate myself, how to divide the illusions until they reach zero. The still point of what is and is not. There. Here? Both. And…
Merril provided this quote from May Sarton this week for dVerse prosery: “In space in time I sit thousands of feet above the sea” But as she pointed out, my prose is too much like poetry to really be prosery. I had a couple requests to leave the post up anyway, so I decided to put it back up.
Hands pause—you whistle between. White bridge slips through your fingers.
Who can number the space of days? To cross them, you must open.
The gate shapes all beginnings, all answers, to equal zero.
Lisa, at Tao Talk, supplied Colleen’s #TankaTuesday image, above. I wanted to try a sijo, which is the Wombwell Rainbow’s form this week. I think I’ve done one before, but it was a long time ago. I like the way it encourages the writer to think about different aspects of the same thought.
I’ve used some embroidered circles I did for a Kick-About prompt as illustration–the Eames Powers of Ten film, a barrage of images, made me think of zero, Lisa’s photo reminded me also of crossing the circles of space and time.
This week’s Oracle 2 words from Jane gave me a starting point–whistle. Which made me think of whistling in the wind. The human condition. Nevertheless, we continue.
You can read the story of the photo at Tao Talk here.
“Ecosystems are so similar to human societies—they’re built on relationships. The stronger they are, the more resilient the system.”—Suzanne Simard, Finding the Mother Tree
we keep dividing
designating
a hierarchy
to pull what we share
apart
and so each
of us is missing
parts
each of us is
incomplete
why do we cling
to our separation
our isolation
who we think we are
alone?
the foundation
is faltering
and still
we hold
on
collapsing
into
the deep
hole
of ourselves
During a presentation Suzanne Simard made, early in her career, about her research into the interrelationships between trees and other species in the forest, and how all were necessary in order for the forest to thrive, she mentioned also the threat to climate from disrupting these systems. “Climate change means nothing in Canada” one of the audience said afterwards.
For earthweal.
I discovered who my local prolific serenader is. Of course the Oracle knew already.
The same foolishness
everywhere. We talk over
each other, repeat
words until they are erased.
The lines become solid form.
We can’t see either
forest or trees. We respond
without listening.
The same actions, recast,
broken up, taken down. Angry
outlines drawn like guns.
Hanging over cliffs, waiting.
Holding on, out, back.
We banish heart, soul. Burning
every single bridge. Drowning.
Early in my blogging life, on memadtwo, I did a series of paintings titled what is it good for? Then I did some embroideries titled war is not healthy (for children and other living things). Unfortunately, it’s (always) (still) relevant. Even in my city (mostly) young men are killing and being killed every day by gang and turf wars that are little more than macho posturing. And of course, as in every war, civilians are merely collateral damage.
Three linked tankas for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday with synonyms for life and move.
I do not wander
randomly but I
also do not follow
a map. Unlocated, I
listen, I look. The Earth
claims me, returns me
with her favor. I
cannot name all
the colors, nor sing all
the songs she has nested
in my heart. They are
unmeasurable, eternal.
For earthweal, fierce love.
Not only is this totally different from the poem I started to write, but the Oracle took me in a completely unexpected direction. She also led me right to an old piece of art that fit, one whose origin I’ve forgotten. She clearly had a message for me. If I could just decipher it…
we are but thoughts
mad gardens of whispering wind
soaring on shadows
cast by wordstorms
ask how or why
and be chanted
into the music
of timeless dreams
K. 