Monday, November 21, 2011

<.......>

I forget what it's called.

It's like waiting, but without the implication of inconvenience.

It's being empty. Without expectation, and so, free.

It's standing on two feet, with the full powers of the breath. Spine straight.

It's trusting in the meantime. Leaning on its arms.

It's the bus coming but not yet.

It's another opportunity to imagine entire realms at work, at rest...

...The concerns of whole populations...

...The joy of certain thousands...

...The sun rising somewhere else, over creatures awakening to the same old miracle.

A million transformer hums, singing with jet engines, the wind in various corners, a million chanting souls, and what else?

Kettles, horns, bowls, bells, anything.

Friday, November 4, 2011

The Cigarette

The Cigarette works against my whole thing lately, which is to be with my breath, to inhabit it.

For days after even one, it's all a little too tight for me to enter. And it ain't the smoke, it's the shit that was in the smoke, makin' the old boy jumpy.

Facing everything like normal, only the metronome swings faster and the balloon is made of thicker stuff.

Sitting inside the breath, sharing it now with addiction.