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.

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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 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.

Love is

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I am passing through countries, discarding them like forgotten lovers. Now when I think about love, I have many more things to say. I think love is a vulnerability, a willingness to trust someone with a precious heart. To be so child-like and joyous that dancing and singing is a natural state. A heightened awareness of the beloved. A look, a tiny movement, a sigh, a tremor, a breath, a heartbeat, these are the signs that reveal the inner state. But love passes, in the same way that that cities fade into the distance as I travel across Europe. That is what you tell me. And so, I continue my journey.

‘Take your joy and spread it across the world, he wrote.

At least begin with a smile and hug yourself, she thought.’

Vaporous perfection

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Clouds, so impermanent, advise her that reality is a mere dream. The illusion of solidity in their shape and comforting forms is exactly that, illusion, disappearing as temperature changes, wind blows or night extinguishes day. Why would a cloud be other than this? I marvel at such simplicity. I will endeavour to leave clouds to their journey, not fall in love with them in any other way than to share their pleasure of being vaporous perfection.

Budapest Blues

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It’s Sunday and I’m in the most beautiful city in the world.

Cigarette butts crushed into broken tiles.

At my feet is another death, in the street,

Broken buildings and hollow dreams.

I’m in her arms like a stillborn child.

Feeling nothing, it seems,

But old.