To be uncompromising against a wall of life always asking us to bend or break, a levee of self-possession, never cracking, and never topping her walls. To be uncompromising, like nature in her seasons - summer, winter, they will arrive, they will. Maybe mild but never absent and always moving on.
(This life among people, inside and televised, maybe ain’t right.)
Understanding comes first from other people, and then from experience.
Solitude finds unity.
Does your work show how joyful you are?
A person knowing where to find the ecstatic, but living attic minded instead.
Roughly:
“Experienced something where i was that moment and then i exploded into the cosmos and
i was the bird and the bird was me and,”
i knew - i think - and i really do believe.
“Folks are scared to name Providence, or God, or the Creator” (pointing out we are all creators)
“Nature is the face of God.”
“Providence is neutral.” (To you.)
Out here simply stumbling into awareness. In balance/in Eden. Walk around your mountain, see it all.
“Accept your own authority. It is your story to tell.”
Find the place that you are granted. I went out in the woods and hugged a pine tree the other day. These old oaks have so much warmth in them, and so much strength and stability. These trees have always been around me and with me, and i did really wrap my arms around a scaly brown pine and it stood there, but i believe it must be too old to be embarrassed, and it might be too rooted and loved by Providence to have ever been embarrassed.
When was the last time you had a moment of pure existence.
Thinking then, later, often. Measuring up and measuring down and rounding off. Thinking about ecstasy where it meets humans, and how you aint gonna find it inside a house, probably. So much time taken for granted. Faulkner wrote that we often have exhausted our chance at life before we are done living.
Little bradford pear blossoms coming out one by one and two and three, those grey woods on the side of the path, worn with winter, making a brave and calculated step into spring. You can see by all of this that Providence has been directly under the house and gone out towards the road. She doesn’t ask anything of the oak trees, they have their own time and Providence & the trees both agree. Winter and spring are still holding hands before winter has to return underground, return to Providence’s back to sleep through the summer and dream into the fall.
We saw a tree standing down near the water, an alien plant vining up its trunk, all it’s arms outstretched in praise to the sun and to the season. Sunset, for a moment, prehistoric red and bloody and old, birds calling the same as they been doing for centuries. We can’t picture the woods anymore like they used to be, all swampland and patient. But we can see the sunset every day if we bottle up and go.
The water is often so still. We would have missed its glass, it’s complete mirror, if it weren’t for the pelican, all perfect just about the surface.
Worried all the time, waking up in the sunrise-light in bed, worried - but whatever is strangely scratching on the roof is still on the roof - and i am safe still in bed.
