Moments stretch
these days.
I untangle the joints
of my body.
they pop & float into
separate individual bubbles
into the fragile space around me.
Silence
is a hand that
bends time into a
circle,
then into spirals
that feed into each
other.
if in this
empty room
I were to speak,
the walls would imitate my
voice, bounce back
clockwise,
feet tap-dancing in
triplets.
I may only
hear my own breath
and see my own limbs
sitting cross-legged.
But if I look outside,
I know
the sun tomorrow morning
will erupt into my room,
and it will be the same sun that
washes over every other
beating heart.
The same way
we all share the same
breath,
animating all our
bodies.
We all may keep loving
and writing of love,
for such substance
escapes the loop
of distance
like the breeze
of the stars’ gaze
settling
between
the cracks of dawn
a hidden, soft,
invisible power.
Today we may not be
moving anywhere,
but were we ever?
Aren’t we always here and
running back here?
Returning always to this?
Our shared bodies
are grass blades sprouting
from one ground.
Our roots all
return to
and emerge from
the same womb.
So in this beautiful
erasure of sound and
movement,
I sink deeper into
our nature,
I polish my glasses,
listen to my heart
thump and cry
for my attention so I
hold it,
listen to it.
the way a mother
holds her baby,
the way she may offer
anything
to keep her warm from the
cold outside.
the invisible heartstrings that
tie us together form
a prism that
refracts and dances before me,
its light,
enveloping
all beings,
and I am in it,
you are in it.
all movement in the ecosystem
the organic cosmos,
the sacred narrative.
so sitting here,
I remember I am sitting
with all of humanity,
juggling the 3 wheels of time.
past
present
future.
it does not matter
because
we can’t help but
all experience the
same moment,
always,
together,
right now.
and right now
and right now.
So I look at the
palm of my hand,
the lines inscribed from birth,
and see the strength in time.
Time cannot help
but dance and carry
all of us on her back,
and her gentle humming
voice is a sweet
lullaby of surrender.
Surrender to where she might
take us.
Surrender to whether we sleep
tonight or not,
whether we cry our hearts out
or hold grief,
despair,
hopelessness,
surrender to times where we
are pure joy, celebration, sharing too.
Surrender to the gentle throbbing
of our longing,
to our not knowing,
to how we arrive
at this moment,
just as we are.
So you hold time
in the palm of your hand now.
You may wish to alchemize it,
transform it into anything…
Anything you surrender to,
may be transformed.
Whimsical Thread 