Bilious We •

 

 

I so often wish I could bring you sensations, moments, bits of the fabric of things. Today, on the edge of the forest, white throated deer ate new leaves off of saplings a few feet away, as I, black clothes stark against the bark, picked sap and brought it to my face. These moments, like the rocks, in some way unmoving, smooth, clever. I wish to bring these to you untarnished by translation, and in the same moment I know it to be impossible. But I know that very soon we will be in the same room – and that that is the closest two humans get to seeing, as one, the quality of light in an afternoon.

An Average Night in Honduras

 

 

 

I offer you music in two different spirits. The first is that of rejoicing, of proclamation – an expression of joy or gratitude – an outpouring. The second is that of invocation – a plea and a call to arms, a desire for the magic of the song to seep into my being and feed me.

This is thrown out in the second spirit.

The Mystery of Abundance

I scrambled through the canyon for hours. Canyons are peculiar places because although they feel expansive and generous they constrict you and direct your movements towards the path before you. I followed the switchbacks towards the plateau and once there, rejoiced. In the midst of my delighting, I was nearly pitched into a shrub by wind of enormous strength. It is possible to spend hours in a canyon and not be aware that above you the wind is frantic and strong. This wind, the wind of high places, is a grand thing. It frolicked around my calves and then swung itself into my gut. I threw up my arms and embraced the wind, and then began the descent.