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.


The Green Singing Finch

This song and I have known each other for a long time. Yesterday the title jumped out at me from a rock anthology in a dentist’s office in foreign city. It was immediately in my head, churning and grumbling and relentless. We drove to the grocery store, and upon entering I was astounded to discover that it was playing on the sound system. It came on as the first song when later I shuffled my music in the dark car. It then played loudly in the resale store. It has followed me in my travels. It marches on.

The Dregs of the Mute Sky

I will breathe your name, and I will call you in the evening of that day. We will drink elderberry wine, and you will smile. As the night begins to age, you will put your hand on my knee, and, instead of being afraid for my heart, I will be eager for its breaking, and I will lean into your hand. Our lips will come together. In their joining, the light will affix itself to our faces, slipping across our earlobes and cheekbones. It is in that night that for a single unparalleled hour we will be in possession of the greatest love.

mimetic impotice

What to do – what to not do – what to avoid – what to embrace – what to cherish – what to ignore – what to feed – what to exhume – what to exude – well, lemme tell you — life is like this and life is like that and every once in a long time life is like then and often life is like now – Ultimately we hold little power over the when or the will or the wind or the whispers or the winter or the winsome blues.

Blow me a kiss. Everything’ll be fine. Propulsion will save us.