Rerouting

Maybe what is missing is the ability to turn one's back on everything. Or anything. I am a reed bending this way and that, yet still growing in a certain eastern light; my front and back keep turning.

At the flea market, Tom Petty cover tunes reach into and out of earshot. I touch everything. I love how the market teaches. I buy a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich and shoo bees from my Pepsi. A couple on the other side of the picnic table ate an elephant ear with ketchup drizzled on it! I mean, what kind of world is this? More than a few people had Trump hats on; that's what kind of world this is.

At home, we stare at each other from opposite sides of the wall and on occasion, peek over to see how things are going. Perhaps pursuits have diverged. Perhaps sleeping apart reroutes communion. How long can we survive on the absence of what we need? Can't we simply change what we need? Love cannot be cultivated or manipulated or possessed. Otherwise, how could we move from the mind of one into the fullness of all?

Maybe that is the bigger thing unfolding. What exists has no other home because it is home itself. Undefinable. Unreadable. Unthinkable.

Daylight is losing its shimmer. A large rabbit makes its way from behind the shed, towards the pine tree and on into blushing sedum. I've walked a lot the last few days and I've run, too. This and other ways my body makes room for answers.

Attention – awareness – Achilles' heel. Maybe the only way out is through.

And just like that

the reed bows

under mostly

yes