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white-lines

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Letting go

Remember when I kept drawing the same card over and over until I realized it wasn’t about the card but the book and I found Tao?

It’s happening again.

Not the mapping of stars writing ancient alphabets hexagrams carefully drawn diagrams of barn renovations or words letter by letter. There’s something else.

 

Last night I dreamed of black bear running back and forth between us like a happy dog fear turning to sorrow as shots rang my eyes opened. Driving to town I saw crow on a wire scratching his head. Later I struck the index finger of my left hand hard with the hammer. The nail will turn from blue to black and be lost. A new one will grow in its place.  

 

 

No immediate threat

Toxic Winds

 

Close and latch the windows tight. Catch your breath.

Eyes watery red. Curse the rasp and phlegm.

 

Baby’s born with a shadow on her lungs.

 

Horns honk. Streets are lined with painted signs. Protest.

But there’s no proof. Just anecdotes. Civil unrest.

 

That’s the smell of jobs and cash. Sulfur. Steam. Some dust.

 

Long John straightens his tie, signs another cheque.

The phone rings. Still no immediate threat.

 

 

 

The thing about words

Earlier today I posted a quote and link to J.H. White’s invitation to join an experiment in exploring the Collective Unconscious.

While listening to her short audio clip I made a note. In the process, uncertain about a word, I scratched out the first attempt, listened again and then wrote, “The need to know and the need to say, obscure truth.”

The thing is, despite listening more than once and focusing on what was being said – I still got it wrong. The statement is actually, “The need to know and the need to save, obscure truth.”

Maybe I should be embarrassed, but instead I’m fascinated. Both interpretations work and are interconnected yet the meanings are very different. What I see is my distrust of words in conveying truth. I value and appreciate words but am also wary of them.

I saw the “need to say” both as creation of concept and as a need for ownership and identification. Impediments to truth. The need to save is an entirely different cautionary note. In this case does save mean, keep from danger? Or does it mean to “hold”? In any case it is treating truth as an object or something fixed.

Truth. The Collective Unconscious. Echoes. And the Poetry of Light. Thanks J.H. White.

(check out my earlier post for links)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writing Poetry: Wings

Over coffee, Agnes mentions mist rising off the frozen river.

Later I experience a moment of clarity while making the bed. Sometimes when this happens, there is a sense of something spreading out from between my shoulder blades. Like wings. Only much more. The feeling makes me think of the gradual transitions of light at dusk and dawn. Perhaps ice turning to mist, returning to cloud. An invisible unfurling.

It happens within seconds. Comes and goes.