Monday, July 18, 2022

Masters of Departure

An hour before twilight carrying compost to the bin out back, the silence ethereal, otherworldly, and I stop walking, briefly transported to a stillness that is familiar but otherwise impossible to speak of.

Gold light fills the upstairs hall, the floorboards glow.

No longer swimming to the lake's center but back and forth where the rippling waters aren't over my head.

The perfect four a.m.

The audience leaves and the show goes on, as if one doesn't have a choice.

Masters of departure, masters of deciding the route, but never masters of destination (else why emphasize mastery at all).

Like the old days, combing over baseball stats.

Chrisoula observes mildly that asking why is generally less helpful than figuring out how, i.e., put your body into it.

I am not a crow, I have killed crows, crows judge me even now.

You were not a bright shiny object nor a sexual conquest but an active player in a dangerous game we needed to play in order to learn who we are.

Finally getting to the epistemics and heuristics.

Watching a blue jay hop from one branch to another, and wondering what mental and physical processes allow it to "know" which branches will support it and which will not, is this what you wanted.

I, too, enjoy watching clouds, busting clouds, and bringing clouds forth as representations of what exists in my world. 

Being intentional with desire means understanding desire, which is a work that most people don't bother with, can't be bothered by, et cetera.

What is with us after all.

Whale ribs, candle stubs.

Writing in the hay loft, wishing I didn't have to stop or leave, knowing that "stop" and "leave" are what give any communal activity - writing, sex, talking - its meaning and - by extension - its value.

She moves slowly picking up sticks on her lawn, the wind storm gone, the work as always going nowhere: what is her name again.

When you think you have to solve the problem externally - in the relationships - then you are still in the projection, still in the fear.

All this starlight I insist belongs to me. 

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