(no subject)
sitting beside the child, it is easy to remember
believing in the strength of words,
handling them like stones, with which the skillful hand could build
a wall,
a dam,
a home.
sitting beside the child, it is easy to breathe.
the weight falls from my heart and i remember - it was real
the time i spent with my feet planted in the riverbed,
my ankles kissed by warm wet dirt,
my legs encircled by rings and rings of clear water.
so real are these lived things
that they refuse to be cast aside like the trappings of identity;
they approach us, one after another,
they appraoch us, time after time.
in this mahamaya, they are the recurring dreams.
and sitting in this ruined home, beside this child, in my sleep,
i am laid bare to myself as a passing thing.
but i am reassured now by the breaking of my dam,
for it tells me that the river is still strong.
believing in the strength of words,
handling them like stones, with which the skillful hand could build
a wall,
a dam,
a home.
sitting beside the child, it is easy to breathe.
the weight falls from my heart and i remember - it was real
the time i spent with my feet planted in the riverbed,
my ankles kissed by warm wet dirt,
my legs encircled by rings and rings of clear water.
so real are these lived things
that they refuse to be cast aside like the trappings of identity;
they approach us, one after another,
they appraoch us, time after time.
in this mahamaya, they are the recurring dreams.
and sitting in this ruined home, beside this child, in my sleep,
i am laid bare to myself as a passing thing.
but i am reassured now by the breaking of my dam,
for it tells me that the river is still strong.