“Even a wounded world is feeding us. Even a wounded world holds us, giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair. Not because I have my head in the sand, but because joy is what the earth gives me daily and I must return the gift.”
– Robin Wall Kimmerer (Braiding Sweetgrass)
People who kiss scars are my favourite,
may be a second hand fall but so are we
on a daily basis, going on. And out.
First choice goes to love dressed as pain
then it’s held and appreciated again.
Like a child.
People who kiss birth marks are my favourite,
may be oddly placed but also a smooth basis
of an own peculiar trace.
If it were scar owned, it would be
a celestial visit
a stardust experience
remembered as a rock
a river and a book
about the day we lost ourselves.
“Chaque affliction mentale est en fait le point de départ de la sagesse. Si l’on se laisse entraîner par les émotions ou si l’on tente de les réprimer, on ne fait que se créer davantage de problèmes. Si, au contraire, on les regarde en face, ce que l’on prenait pour destructeur devient le meilleur support de méditation qui se puisse imaginer.”
Many white horses in ignorance very tamed ones while horizon went blur And I forgot my names
When I go knocking on heaven’s door I don’t want my white and black pebbles to be counted I want to tell about all the times I was in dung and felt a hand lift me up I want to tell about all the times I was hungry and got a bellyful of food I want to tell about all the times I was thirsty and got soothed by nothing like tears
When I go knocking on heaven’s door I don’t want my judgement bells to go ringing from cloud to convincing one I want the bells to call on the wild pains and the lost times to bring us back home in our own light happy steps
Rare footage of laughs. Rare footage of monologues and dialogues.
It’s nice and muddy.
“The rarer they get, the fewer meanings animals can have. Eventually rarity is all they are made of. The condor is an icon of extinction. There’s little else to it now but being the last of its kind. And in this lies the diminution of the world. How can you love something, how can you fight to protect it, if all it means is loss?” – Helen Macdonald (H is for Hawk)
Rare footage of plays. Rare footage of high mounds.
On my way to see the snail’s song
A summer storm broke out
Heavy drops over a protective branch
Soaked leaves falling
Thunder made a child cry
And another one cover ears
Wind gets stronger and I’m cold
As I remember and dream
Of our fearless uncovered smiles
Inflated deflated empty
Steps get back nearer home
Going crazy with that sight
Of you climbing a wall you feel I am
When you’re already a mountain
We will take on lives
With handfuls of hopes
Dreaded bells freezing
And nipples sneezing
All melting warmhearted
Into good light
“People would like to be able to take a pill that makes their fear and anxiety go away and makes them immediately feel peaceful. This is impossible. One must develop the mind over time and cultivate mental immunity. Often people ask me for the quickest and best solution to a problem. Again, this is impossible. You can have quickest or you can have best solution, but not both. The best solution to our suffering is mental immunity, but it takes time to develop.”
Two dancing light yellow butterflies
to welcome me home today
Fortunate stranger I have become
to meet you in the drain
Sun burning my skull
and fingers going numb
with stiff smiles are gone with
paralytic realms mirroring
a silent disgrace that doesn’t say
name or age or weight or shape
because it has to be forgotten
Smiling big stranger I have become
by seeing your graceful swift dances
from grassy island on sea of concrete
to small flowery tower
about to poke the nearest cloud
If I hadn’t fallen for a robber a while ago
and found rober* in the dictionary tonight
I might still be thinking of you.
Time says NO SMOKING in the rain
as we sing under a sky of trees.
* Rober: v. t. entourer les cigares d’une feuille extérieure, dite robe (Larousse)
MC Disappointment digs deep
down the forehead lines
“J’accuse” takes its toll
as a soft multilayered hoof
that springs to joy
when wisdom is greeted
with gentle tenderness
I love those moments
of more love found
deep down in the digs
Long gone dead I’d be
Just like this illusory MC
growing donkey ears
and mercy, MC