i believe life is a learning experience.
thats a concept ive understood for awhile now, that life is some sort of celestial proving grounds in which to test and temper souls, at the very least a cell in some infinite glorious organism (he said man was a cancer on the planet). but for a wordhead to have the distillation of her desire presented to her in seven is a gift from Great Love and Grace.
radish reminds me of my sister, incommunicado since christmas.
my beloved sunflowers, tithonia, hoping for a cleome volunteer since i didnt buy any seed this year. remembering the datura i wrestled with last summer, my garden reminds me of you, Zuzu. i will admit to the painful space where you are not in my life. i hope one day you decide to let me know how you are.
i am happy home in this small subculture, returned to Innisfree, the big bed and beaten track. trying to connect, a little, vaguely unsuccessful, the harder i seek the deeper it hides. the water of the world begins to drip through.
‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.