Sunday, March 21, 2010
Comin' to the Thaw
Once all things were bound in nothing, like a book whose cover cannot be opened. It was a suspended animation with everything frozen. Coming to the thaw the book is opened, the drip begins and something is released.
Dreams are the halo of this understood, a nimbus that surrounds, study itself, the world of earth. Instead of getting and spending, commercial affairs, wholen glimpses of maturity show sides of a paradigm. Furniture, pottery, Chinese civilization, wilds of the Balkans, animal life and plants, faces of children, heroism of suffering, fight of the spirit, joy of health, something out of nothing celebrates the formless, to seek good and pursue it, sweep the curbs in the street, care for neighbors, cry of beings in distress, pray without ceasing, cleaning and all menial tasks, parabolas, love. There is civilization and there are forms of the formless, every animal, insect, plant, tree, cave, stream, mountain free of inebriated destruction that seeks to destroy the forms. Being guardians of the forms of everything in the midst of these dreams opens up to consciousness.
Night vision of breath praise, gratitude for being, each gasp, pain a prayer when wind is still and giving birth lasts. History, geography, being, knowing, the thaw of nothing in the world of forms is not nothing, hence Something. It is the formless. How long you been doing this? Since eternity I celebrate the forms in thought, hands, trades. Figures of something, elephants wave their trunks like cyclone funnels from the ground up to their capacious heads, ears waving the trumpet of calls. This is something, a little one.
The little gathers at night to wait the coming one, a community of bird, plant, beast, star, the same human wonder each century, decade, millennia, day, the same one-pouring wonder sought knowledge. One dream comes regularly each night to the sphere that forms whole where each has its place, trumpet, musician, gardener, physician, the one who writes it all, not the politician, the one who feels the ages down to a mud hole in the ground and sits there in wonder. Poll the masses as they sit. When nothing thaws it will rain. I celebrate it in the new year.