Saturday, February 5, 2022

Better than Sex or Coffee

Late morning, frost flowers on the east-facing window prismatic, better than sex or coffee. The One appears to Itself as moonlight, a lover speaking in moonlight, a lover's words softer than soft winds in the hemlocks, hemlocks casting shadows on the pasture, the pasture in a sentence, the sentence in my mouth, my mouth a font of praise unto the One.

Knowing a few Latin and Greek words never hurt anybody. This studied resistance to being objectified in the name of the love.

Where is the space between sight and what is seen? Foxes come up from the hollow in mid-winter to nose around the chicken pens, so time to piss outside again, let them know who the real predator is. 

A river has many names, only one or two of which we are allowed to discern. Understanding the nature of the crisis masquerading as this or that relationship.

Our whole being, which we cannot know in fragments. In the wintry swamp, a moose steps carefully between mounds of soft snow.

Confident tricksters taking wing. Upon what is awareness contingent and how can you say?

This is a writing project, one of several. Sunlight on the  hemlocks, making me think of bones. 

Nothing is new but things do change. Note to T.S. Eliot: you can't actually disturb the universe so go ahead and eat some pussy.  

Eddies. We do meet - however briefly - in this text.

Perceiving we are separate, we complete each other. Mountain streams bluer than this snow is white. 

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