Pulsing Life

[Guest guest]

In the heart of eachthere seems a sort of story,a yearning like all

flowering forthe showering grace of rain.This primal birth-cry of

desirecalls present emptiness to life as eachblossom of itself

opening to bloom,to express that pulsing life.What powers

flowers,flowers into us.The destiny of flowers isthe destiny of dust,

and yet,the miracle of dust is such thatit can rise to know itself as

poetry ofemptiness, giving birth to blossomsfrom that same dust it

dissolves in,only to appear again as you and I,and yearning at the

heart.The rain falls where it will, dryness morphsto fertility, crust

dampens into silt, abandonsitself to flowing water, watery beings

appear asbubbles, bursting a bit downstream, and so it goeson the

watery wheel in this rightness of rain –"a drop of dew" would also

do, a tale thatreally isn't new to those with eyes thatsee flowers

and dust and makeno fixed distinction.

 

 

Sizzling strokes of light stillsteam over stones in the late

afternoon.They undulate against the shadows of amerciful darkness now

approaching to cool thescorched earth and sooth my own hot

heart,ablaze with the rapture of violet peaks,simmering into

sunset.Subtly the night retrieves its silence,one by one the sounds

ofday drop away.Resonant exhalation aslast light extinguishes, a

unionbeyond any distance in themigrant thrall of it all.Expanse of

desire's arching solidity,Cold Mountain looms from dark shrouds,host

to this memory moistened with tears, withdesolation's wan secret,

shared among asympathetic transience of clouds.In the forest tonight,

a commotioncut short with a sudden whelp;from the valley, not a

sound.In the morning, perhaps atrace of shining bone, orblood smeared

hot oncold hard stone.

 

Village vendors hawk peaches --the first ripe ones of season.Holding

one up against the skyI see the sun within a peach globe,glowing gold

as dawn.On this spring morning,air still chilled and filled with the

fun ofchildren pushing peach parts intotiny mouths, a nectar flows

from this heart,drenching the moment with peachy bliss.This day will

sweeten itself ina young girl's memory of a vagabondhermit, down from

the mountains,inhaling stars from balls of fruit,bartering songs for a

taste ofthat fragrance.

 

 

Visions of luminous vastnessthat absorbed my heart today are nowfast

consumed by tonight's freezing mists –stinging airborne water

curtains darkeningthe once-bright stage and leaving thiscold-soaked

audience of one tocontemplate the alternations ofyin, yang, and some

suchsoberness --yet like a lunaticI rock back and forth,arms hugging

my sides tokeep from bursting, grand pealinglaughter echoing through

rock canyons likea thousand partying peacocks, drunk and

calling,falling, echoing, into a sober-less night of love.

Love,

Mazie