January SAD toppled me this year. A number of incidents involving the intimate nature of teeth became altogether too agonising to bear. So I decided to visit some OLD friends in the Amazon. Some older than I realised. Energetic work with Ayahuasca and Noya Roa under the guidance of Manuel Mahua, Papa Gilberto Mahua and Oscar Rodriguez Reategui in Pucallpa.
Tasting the tears of stars that fruit the fallen trees. Thinking about Milarepa, the art of listening and the development of LUNG-GOM-PA. The awakening of living spirit.
"Home is where all your attempts to escape cease." - Naguib Mahfouz
The restoration of sight. The little machines on another frequency, tirelessly working to repair the damage done and not yet done. The suffering inseparable from joy. The luminous ape in the library of everything.
The finger pointing at the star is not the star. Resistance to the dropping of the body. Holding breath so very tight.
Home. The heaving, seething, perpetual blush. The groaning, birthing belonging.
Carried away in play. Lost in recognition. The fibres aligning only to become prideful. The grasping. Let go to nurture. The nature of providing is the practice of release.
Tavener's Magnificat. Band On The Run. Rhythm Of The Saints.
This time I would listen. I would make myself confortable and let her work on me. The astral hospital bed.
Fanning, combing, inverting. Gondolier of the neural canals. Breathing the prism. Fireflies dimming the grey skinned, fingerless imp. In dark slumber.
The spinning helix, the jealous lover, the trickster. Naughty, clingy Mary Mary.
Watercolours as offerings. Staving off starving.
She made her voice known to me. Distinguishable from the others. To be a child.
The parent of the self. The dilating diaphragm. The pockets of breath between vertebrae. A childish Pieta.
Friends you lost to objects they cultivate a ghost in the stuffed and the glass eyes and paint.
Traveller of the arteries. Navigator of hidden realms.
Baptismal submersion. Spitting perfume. The crown and the fingers.
Arcana. The shell is a perfect, purple cell. The song where everyone nuance contains a new lesson, another curvature in the undiscoverable sphere.
Don't be shy. Be flexible. Don't interrupt.
We were all children. We knew not.
The woman of the stars, the man of the roots. The behaviour of the observed is affected by the observer - on this we can all agree.
My home. Her final transmission. "You don't have to make any big decisions yet my son."
Service. Gratitude. Patience. Forgiveness.
No comments:
Post a Comment