What doesn’t exist

Just a few feathers on snow
One tipped with bloody flesh
Crime scene scrubbed clean
A modest deception for
The magnitude of what was

The cells whisper
As they crumble into dirt
Eaten by the gluttonous flow
Of Nature’s own preference
The rustle of hunger to be awake

What is it that doesn’t exist?


The light that flows forth

This is a short essay I wrote for the online writing class I am taking. It’s about this yoga studio in the woods…

Photo credit: prakasayoga.com

It’s tucked deeply into the woods, so that you can hardly see it from the dirt road. Occasionally, when the angle of the sun is just right, you catch a reflection from a window and follow it down a narrow path beyond the trees to a ridged tin roof atop a weirdly-shaped squat structure: a rectangle in the front rear-guarded by what appears to be a slightly taller circular building with horizontal slit windows just below the roofline. It’s the strangest thing that you’ve ever seen, and you have to get a closer look. When you get near, you see that the building is stone, Romaine-lettuce-green and not circular at all. You pull the heavy oak door open and go in, take off your shoes and, through hinged narrow double doors, pass from the square anteroom into the sanctuary, stepping over a threshold made of Goshen stone bathed in white pebbles.

It has twelve corners and, hence, twelve sides. A glass cupola surrounded by a patch of yellow, and radiant heat floors of Italian cork invite you to lie down and look. You do. The rough walls are painted rich eggplant and the ceiling below the cupola is sky-blue with an occasional wispy cloud. It turns out that six tall slim windows, taking advantage of the Southern exposure, balance the small rectangular ones tucked into the Northern side you had noticed before. You lie in Shavasana and look up at the cupola as the clouds rush by, each one passing only once. You squint and close your eyes, the awakening spring sun boring right into your face now, your skin warm for the first time in months, and inhale deeply. Then you remember how once you were able to hear the rain – really hear it, without the need to name it first – harsh, loud, overwhelming, like a sob. And you wonder whether perhaps you might be able to hear, taste and smell the sun now if you could just wedge yourself into this moment, disconnected from your past and from your future.

Your eyes closed, you’re coasting on a light wave, becoming a quantum particle with its fields and entanglements. And you have to smile because life just doesn’t get any better than this. Your life, the one you’ve always had, that’s always held you. Right here.

Lucky am I

It is a moving tunnel that
Inverts itself as it plunges ahead
I am plastered to its rippled wall
Held by the centrifugal force
Greater than my own will
Spinning like an idea radiating
From its illogical station
Following this moment on its heels
To tango it into place
All just to remain
Adaptable to the shapes of the wind
Lucky am I! How barren and stripped
This feels now that I am alive
Now that I have tasted the horn of plenty
In its fruitful seduction
And reaped so much more than I sowed
Lucky am I! How unprecedented and bold
This feels now that I am wizened and wide
Now that I know which way I am moving
On this road without an end

Why not

Why not long for the ocean’s
Turbulent wisdom
Why not invite the moon to
Chase your shadow in the woods
Why not allow the sun’s light to
Take root in your blood
Why not let the Earth
Love you with abandon
Why not surrender to
The simple

A reluctant welcome to spring

Rhythmical dripping
Is driving me crazy
Winter is slipping away
On the horizon
All limping and lazy
Spring coming in from the fray

Snow’s getting muddy
And grey as it’s aging
Into eternity aimed
Sun, now higher
In its perch in the sky,
Is reluctantly getting inflamed

Kicking and screaming
To wake from their dreaming
The bears are slow to rise
Their winter slumber
So sweet and so somber
They don’t rush to chase from their eyes

Something appealing
To stare at the ceiling
Of snow as it piles on my roof
As it slides to the ground
The roof’s native brown
Reminds me of time going “poof”

Not only time’s race
But also the space
Where I am no longer concealed
It will not be long
Till spring comes in strong
And I lose winter’s insular feel

So dance all ye humans
Our race can see humor
That winter is eager to share
And spring to your toes
Since that’s how it goes
The invasion of sun is nigh here