Our distorted view is a gift. Black Heat.
Our distorted view is a gift.
The cosmos enrobed in
flesh and blood,
a living, breathing, walking, talking microcosm.
A perfect trap for awareness
to fall into forgetful sleep;
slowly weaving the container
into dense self-reflective identity,
only to wake itself up again.
Thoughts and feelings
whiz by like quarks and leptons,
invisible to the naked eye.
A soundless wind sings
stories of generations
echoed across space and time;
wisdom held in hopes and prayers
brought to the surface of minds
amidst the churning waves of modernity.
thousands of years delayed,
pierces the blackness of space
reminding us that above and below,
a vastness unimaginable by the brightest minds.
This insular human world,
colored by plurality,
amidst a diversity of life
playing and growing together
is dying of forgetfulness.
Chickens come home to roost.
Violence and warfare
bloody the palms of us all;
we wash the black ooze
with fracking water;
dollars don't clean woes or injustice.
We invoke the spirit of humility and celebration
those of us whose parched mouths
sing and cry out to draw from the wisdom well,
starving for nourishment
beyond material wants and desires.
We celebrate the power to grieve what once brought joy,
to offer what gifts we have received,
to learn beyond the narrowness of our pinhole view,
to fortify the threads that bind us to all of life,
to nourish what needs healing,
to forgive and be forgiven,
to restrain from repression and subjugation,
to ask for guidance in our confusion,
to welcome the stranger,
and make friends with our fears.
We invite the sacred pause,
the sound of the cosmos breathing itself
through the life of all beings,
known and unknown to human beings.
We set down the struggle, fear, and resistance,
and gratefully remember this separation game
has no winners or losers.
We are here to play.
Our lives all temporary explorations,
a sigh amidst and endless unfolding,
whispering, "You Really Should've Listened. (Black Heat)"