Scream into the silence

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Cat eyes hunting prey.

Clandestine footprints on untrodden soil.

But where were the mewlings?

Had they suffocated on the taste of fear?

Look deeper, said the tree, because trees always know.

Sink into the soil,  sang the earth as it always did.

Wrap the tenderness of leaves around your heart,  cried the oneness of nature.

And she did.

But where were the mewlings?

Breathe in, breathe out, said the tree.

They came, slowly at first,

Then dancing like wild beasts,

Silence torn between their teeth.

 

 

 

Conjugated Love

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I’m drunk on possibilities. You know, one of those moments when you want to say I love you guys, to the ex who I truly loved, the friends who I love present tense and the people who I will love in the future. Life is so fucking conjugated. And yet so simple.

It’s an old post but the sentiments remain. I don’t post much these days as my life is generally offline and offgrid. I’m breathing in the air of constant change where creativity takes a million forms. As we breathe in and out together I wish for a deeply felt year.

Breathe

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This moment of contemplation gives me everything I need for my next step. I am about to step into the unknown, again and again and again. Already I can feel the excitement fluttering inside like a deranged butterfly. If I concentrate on my breath, I am able to slow her flight but unable to allow her to settle gracefully on a flower of her choice. And this is necessary for the creature to dip into the nectar and continue the cycle of life. So I will practice. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Living lightly

The Jump

She’s lost her way, moaned the mattress wearily.

Where are her arms? asked the solid floor.

The window was closed to all possibilities.

But the floor sprung sweetly under the weight of her frame.

 

The light smiled softly, the air rushed madly,

And she laughed at the room,

In complete abandonment.

The Inevitable

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Today I climb a mountain on this remote Greek Island. Beyond the source of the waterfalls, lizards cling to the cliff faces. I test each hand hold before I give my weight to the mountain. The hard volcanic rock has been broken into sharp and unstable shards by the winter elements. Only the lichen-covered rocks are stable. I pick my path. The sky is racing past. A rush of adrenalin hits me. I consider the possibility that I could die here. Why not? It’s a beautiful place where I am completely at peace.

I see a species of ants that I know well from the Australian bush. We have history. Once I saw them carry away bones from a snake carcass. I’ve stood barefoot on their mounds for a dare. They don’t sting but their meat-eating preference makes this a good test of endurance. Sure, it’s crazy, but I had time and it was the days before I carried a laptop and had 305 Facebook friends. Today I feel only completeness. This is not an Italian drama. Perhaps it’s a Greek tragedy? Except there is no family gathering at my feet. I’m grateful. They need a wash.

The River Knows

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The village is a walk through ferns, following a goat track. I heard the goat herder’s wild animal cries at sunrise and the passing sounds of bells, bleats and hoofs sure-footed on stone. But I have no desire to go to the village. Instead I go to the waterfall to wash the city from my body and remember the sweet caress of the sun.