Stormdrastic

So it is. All trials are only circles. The hurricane falls into the shore, mingling sand-surf-beach-rocks-electric-air, the false lull before the plunge. The innards of the ocean throws up a curtain of sleet that spreads like a comforter onto a king-sized bed.

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"You can't rush destiny."

No, I guess you can't. Just like you can't sail around a tempest, for if you did they'd still ask,

"Why were you late?"

And you'd have to say, "It was because of a storm."

Then they'd ask, "It must have been bad?"

And you'd have to say, "I don't know. I sailed around it."

No you just can't rush destiny.

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The moment of not understanding is an opportunity to learn.
-- bell hooks

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I love that all our things are mingled together, love how your stuff is a-clutter, crumple towels, jeans, and bras. I love to find traces of your passing when we're apart, love the way you're spread on the floor like a cyclone.

A day alone. Time to reflect, to recollect what was given, what remains. Back to the Falls. The prayers I had uttered there all answered, just not in the order received. Back to a time colored heartache, a grey shade of blue on a starless sky, curling, shivering into earth. A thin strand stretcheing to eternity, showing where that berg of memory has sailed since calving from a glacier of lives never lived. When again was that day it fell apart? Where was that fault line to be found?

A false lull -- something quite as ordinary as the drop in pressure before the restless expenditure of a thunderstorm. Remembrance soaking my senses: the scent of morning in the forest; sound of beachrocks chattering in the tide and the taste of salt water; a thread of light flickering from the last embers of a fire to dance, all yellow, all yolk, before the mirrors of my eyes.

I hold my breath, watch as that small spark falls faintly to rest in my hand. This moment becomes all moments, becomes this pen shaping symbols, crafting vessels into which we pour meaning -- becomes something other than myself. "Listen more carefully," it says, "Then you will know."

In still silence a tether is cut, these syllables set loose from the past leaving only a dream, a dream that has always been true. For all things were given. All things remain. And I am held in life's embrace as the soil nourishes a seed to flower to see only the sun, as joy can reside only where once was sorrow, as surely as dawn. I am in love.

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Watching.

The world teems with life.

The great to the small –

oak trees,

pollen,

blade of grass

bends in the embrace

of day’s only eye

which made the world bloom

as a rose decorates a garden,

as the seed that remains.

Why does a squirrel leaping from branch to branch never fall?
Because they have no fear of falling --
they can let go of one limb before clinging to another.

Some flowers for Hope...

PRAYER

Wind, water and winding sheet,
bring me peace and sunset,
and let me wake when others sleep
that I may walk through dreams.

Ok, listen. This isn't chess.
This isn't the makings of a neutron bomb.
Really there's no places that we differ
except that I am actively speaking out the voice within me
while you remain silent.

Axiom

I'm not sure if you know; you talk in your sleep. I never slept well beside you. I lay awake at night a million miles away and sometimes you spoke... Your words came mostly as nonsense but somehow I understood them all, saw them in your waking life, your moving through the world, your interaction with others.

One night as I lay awake you told me that the flame had gone out and that it was a sort of loyalty or duty that kept us together, not a passionate love. And though for me a fire blazed I could see where that came from, I saw it every day -- the flower withers; the seed remains.

Fire3

So what have I learned? What has spinning fire taught me?

I’ve learned not to trespass at nuclear facilities. They grab you and put you in a cage in back of a white pickup and go through all your stuff. It’s not usually good if they find kerosene and chains and rags. I just stay well clear of the military as a general rule since then.

I’ve learned how fire can draw people in, the illusion of its control. Yet at any moment a wad of flaming cotton could set loose into them. And it’s amazing how many people ask if they can try. I usually say, sure, but that’s sometimes gone badly -- especially for one girl in a nylon dress at a Cadillac dealership I set up outside of. The authorities showed up that night too. Just the cops this time though. Not the nuclear henchmen.

I’ve learned the recklessness of fire and that flames themselves do not burn, only a chemical/physical reaction. Fire. The thing that brings smoke, glass and metal; the first sign of war; the last gift of the dead unto the living. Fire. Eternal as every inferno on a beach and every small candle flickering in a window, for every catastrophic explosion a spark going out, the only element that keeps us together and our greatest threat. What I’ve learned from fire.

I’ve learned that you’ve got to expect things to go wrong. For every moment of peace there is the striking of a match to scorch the earth. For every part joy there is a part of suffering and for what seems a sure thing there is a leap of faith. So fire has taught me something of life and now when I meet with goodness I remember sorrow, when I see the brightest light I remember a searing darkness. And I have learned that a life without fire is like a year without summer, and that if you dance with her, or near nuclear reactors, you’ve got to expect to get burned.

What I’ve learned from fire.

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FIRE AND ICE

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

==================Robert Frost===============

My relationship with fire2

My relationship with fire

I came home from work with a headache. I walked through the front door and heard the sound of water in the shower, was going to call out to you when I heard another sound and noticed his boots by the door. I didn’t know what to think and so I just walked back outside, went downtown and had a coffee. It wasn't like I felt hurt. I was just taken back. It was only after sitting there for a while that I remembered -- I had been seeing someone else for months. And what did I do? I never said a word, and from then on I always called to let you know I was coming. Because people do whatever they have to do in order to make themselves happy , and anyways, who am I to judge.

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"Souls are fires whose ashes are the bodies."
--Kahlil Gibran

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