Salty tears; salty sweat. So much life flows around me more than I could gift to the holy forest floor– “I am here,” I whisper and stack stone on stone. They reply: it’s not us you try to convince. Below me dangles mossy river, tangling rising reeds and stone clothed stone I could slip but grooves are cut in these stones in shapes … Read More Cairn
There I was, sitting cross-legged on that big stone in the middle of the creek. The mountains were celebrating or something, cause the water barely lapped halfway up the stone; if I straightened my legs out they wouldn’t touch water at all. It was high summer, too, it being the southern hemisphere–ever felt a day this warm in January? Not me. The trees lining … Read More Theories on “Maturity”
It feels funny to be wearing a rain coat : the beckoning dawn counts my steps as I walk, stiff in the hips from a restless night, empty in places, shuffling along dark streets opened by a cloudy moon and the distant bellow of early ships coming in to port. It’s funny because it’s raining–little kisses from clouds cast patchy against the moon, … Read More Point Vierge
Not a moment goes by that I see you proper : befit in tropical fern cloak ; a royal sunset from purple streak’d Ranganui ; peaks alight with unfathomable age drifts and shades of wisdom ; a thousand mirror words that instinct rise but I do not understand my mind too full, my heart too far.
Helene and Andrew, who I worked for as a chef at Il Forno, offered their daughter’s spare mattress for my sleeping purposes for the time between the end of my au pair contract, on the 21st of December, and when my parents would rock into the Auckland airport on January 3rd. Thus I spent my Christmas in a kiwi fashion, with barbecued pizzas, … Read More Frequently Wrong, Never in Doubt: Plans for the Future
The vastness gets me, sometimes; to see all this space I cannot measure, cannot obtain—and then to see my human kin, just as vast, measureless, objective in such a state, a condition as this. All of them new to the act of human being, and yet vastly more prepared than I.
Let’s just sit here for a minute, here, on this log, next to the creek which flows strong and clear. I have to show you this tree; a tree from the sun, from the soul on its own, a tree on whose long furry branch dangles wise chin hairs and me— swinging in my hammock safe and soundless the wind tilted my chin … Read More The Creek and the Tree and Us, Sitting
I never regret not reading the news. The front page headlines written by an aware individual who keeps delight on the simmer at having found the story of the missing child-rape case first. The television stations, projecting visions of chaos injecting emotion to hype it all up get you going, get the fires lit, get the smoke signals out honey, we’re not going … Read More How I Get My News
Naked toes nestle into the folds of my hammock, which swings, easy, like the gentle head nod that accompanies soulful conversation—the air massages the oak leaves above, and the four of us are in holy existence; synchronized we inhale and loosen. How sublime does it feel to be aware of all this. And to wonder: