Category: Living on Purpose
Release me— my mind is a maze of serpentine storylines, bending and swirling with the Kabul River, cuddling, carving belting the Hindu Kush; Hindu Kush to the Tian Shan; Tengri Tagh or Tengir-Too, anything at all to breathe in Mountains of Heaven. Sharp, cascading inhales of the ice gods, the grins I see in the snow lines, the dusk-shades cast by sunlight—
Two final footsteps echoed against the scratched glass door & off we were— murmuring swampy lives away, lobbing for ourselves the God-given champagne against the bobbing she-queen, Queen of the Nile. Life was in bubbles, great wads of the stuff, tacky & sweet and still criss-crossed in hot-blooded pen— the deeper we burrowed in our footstep murmurs, the deeper we saw; until the … Read More The Gradual Shelf of the Sea
The shadowy evening cast itself long against the sign pole. Stirling Point, the “southern-most point of New Zealand”–not even the southern-most point of Bluff–hung there, suspended, like some glorious trophy I would have given back for more time. My body ached. Electricity was zip-lining through me, pulsing in the backs of my knees, the creases of my elbows, the temple vein. Max, Arwed, … Read More Life with Cosmo
You could go sterile on a seat like that, he told me, jiggling one dusty finger at the black cheek-shaped seat of my bicycle, which rested with me against the cafe umbrella stand. I didn’t quite follow his reasoning— which he gave in file-folder eruptions of statistics and news articles clear from the research department of his mind.
I am at home within myself. A Hawaiian twilight dims the background; I can hear the sleepy cooing of a nightjar on the branches of the acacia koa above me, blinking itself awake. Perhaps it’s a common nighthawk. Sue tells me those frequent the south shores of O’ahu. With the sun descends the temperature. Nothing alarming, nothing intense; no reason to leave my cross-legged … Read More Nowhere
All this fuzziness astounds me ; warmed up from the soul and told (under no uncertain terms) we’re destined to die the martyr in due course. But not now—perhaps. At least until the sun goes down and the ants cease their ant-nibbles and the cricket boys back go to bed.