IN SEARCH OF A MONARCH

A morning, from early seven to noon.

Alone in the field, searching for monarchs, 

and finding instead, early tiny skipper butterflies that measure at least half an inch. 

Waiting quietly for a blue dragonfly to perch again, on the same blade of light green native grass, (on any blade of grass, for clear view)

for a pileated woodpecker to feed a baby, once again, way up on a barren tree. 

Waiting for a young deer to finish grazing the roadside before moving on, and even then, stopping by his side, for a photo of no fear. 

A loud noise and a jump in the forest.

Enchanted with an apparition, reflection of pink red-purple above a common pond.

In spite of Cartesian ID fevers, 
endless competitions in naming games,
mosquitoes, flies
& doubt, 

At the end of the road, a monarch, in a barren land of salty trail stone.

Nothing much in this world is better than the solitude of this morning.

SOLITUDE

When plagued by excessive solitude,

I look at this picture:

Then at this one

When all is well again,

there is this fellow,

who was there all along,

oblivious to the high emotions of the crowds…

BORDERLINE REVELATIONS

July 3, 2010
Revelations inside the borders of the solar plexus


Life awakening

Still clinging to the dew beauty of dream, once more I wake up to fright, gasping at dawn, once more alone and lost. Pinned to this bed by the gothic ceilings of this caravelle, this oh, so beautiful house. 

The gardens of my enchantment and of the butterflies, a country that was a stranger to me and that is now mine. I am a citizen of this community, in the more mundane sense, having sworn to the truth of wanting to stay.


I breathe and from the air that enters my body, the feeling of alone penetrates. I breathe and watch my face, open pores of nose, skin color of marzipan, a hair growing in the wart, the mouth demanding deeper and deeper air to stop this daily ache, in the awakening of my days. Of my aloness, in my body, I breathe, I feel.


On the road, maybe to my end, in this bed made of my own body. On the road I have no desire because desire does not work in this journey.


The insight to feel, to breathe,


so as to be alive, to get over this fright of life and death. To accept, in the awake and in this breath, that ageing is to know how to inhabit one’s own body. In this morning and moment I do not have the body of others as my aim, my own physical body is what composes me.


Of the bodies of others I know they compose music, sex, vibrations, love, the words of art, friendships, marriages, falling out of love, the people, relationships, all that which, in illusion, makes me corporeal.


In this instant, I do not need the bodies of others to be. I do not relate. I enter inside my own body, I recognize a borderline in this morning of mine. 

My unique possibility to inhabit my own time and to age. 

To have some peace.