The moon. The moon.
Tonight with a bottle of wine, under the tree east of the field, under the sky, we watched them. The swifts have just begun for the year, just the first few birds fluttering in the pink sky, just the first few brisk nights. We sat on the Guatemalan blanket, reminding me of past seasons, past years. I thought of all the people I have sat next to, laid next to, under the same sky, under the same tree, all of the years of figs and swifts, and love swelling in me like the full moon in the sky. Particularly the first, that first summer after my life split open like a melon, all of life's illusions, all of life's knowing becoming a river flowing out of me.
The seasons are changing, and under the late summer twilight sky I think of all the people I have known, all the people I have loved, and all of the loneliness that has slipped in and out of my life, but tonight my awareness is outside of that. Tonight it is simply something I can look in upon, like a house I have lived in, like a door I have just found. The swifts swirl and dart through the sky, and as the last one drops in I wonder what is religion, but a lens with which to view the world? Who needs a lens when you have your eyes and stillness? What is religion when you have the world?
There is the earth beneath me, the tree above me, the wide open sky glowing in its pinks, oranges, greys, and blues. I feel the root of something spreading slowly out from within me, or from under me, or from above me; tonight it doesn't matter. Tonight I can close my eyes and hear the wind. Tonight the sky glows and everything else swims under it. Tonight my heart grows wide and open in my chest like the almost full moon swelling in the late August sky.
The seasons are changing, and under the late summer twilight sky I think of all the people I have known, all the people I have loved, and all of the loneliness that has slipped in and out of my life, but tonight my awareness is outside of that. Tonight it is simply something I can look in upon, like a house I have lived in, like a door I have just found. The swifts swirl and dart through the sky, and as the last one drops in I wonder what is religion, but a lens with which to view the world? Who needs a lens when you have your eyes and stillness? What is religion when you have the world?
There is the earth beneath me, the tree above me, the wide open sky glowing in its pinks, oranges, greys, and blues. I feel the root of something spreading slowly out from within me, or from under me, or from above me; tonight it doesn't matter. Tonight I can close my eyes and hear the wind. Tonight the sky glows and everything else swims under it. Tonight my heart grows wide and open in my chest like the almost full moon swelling in the late August sky.