We’re perched on a big slanted rock,
like two sitting ravens
resting after a long flight.
The river before us
does her river-ing,
as a gentle water maiden.
Wearing her soft hair
into cascade braids.
We share the bread of
our sorrows,
it feels good to voice it out
and have ourselves be witnessed that way,
to know our wings are
embracing each other’s bodies.
We trace the skin of our
lives and try connecting
veins to moles,
finding roadmaps and routes
that will somehow tell us
what the pains and joys
have been worth, in this life so far.
In the silences where
I press my scarf closer to
my body,
I know the answer can’t be
found in the symbols or words
that somehow in this moment
sitting next to my friend,
there is a vast peace
and union that is here
and that is all,
and that we can’t say a thing about,
because it is a vastness
beyond mind, a peace beyond mind,
a joy the body does not create,
a love that doesn’t come about in the spaces
in between.
And it is, but it is not.
We twirl around it
and in it:
a cosmic soup,
where all materials that
make us up are ours and not ours,
we are exchanging bodies and cells and air and water
every moment,
we are one same stuff.
And our lives are so deeply personal,
yet not,
so completely impersonal and open
to read on the storybook
of the Cosmos.
So we are left wondering,
chirping about our
indeterminate purpose and destiny
just because,
there is comfort in shared
storytelling of our sacred journey.
So that’s what we do,
perched on this big rock,
we storytell,
and the world listens avidly.
Whimsical Thread 