Everything is Fire

Saffron edges give way to gray. Fletchings of a new day guide ever forward. I still don't understand how it is that my body does the betraying. Ankle, back, shoulders, skin – pain tells me everything is fire.

I burned a few offerings and transplanted the ash to a dozing garden. Blood moon, rose quartz, ruby leaves. Help me hear what the land wants. I toil and rake so emergent growth will have a way in the spring. Yet, it is so unnatural! With each passing year, this senseless work turns from comedy to anger to the realization of futility.

I'm thinking about form but only because form is thinking about me. Lately, walking by moonlight, I grift the silence. Once upon a time, we had an inner certainty of our Being. We didn't need the poor path of words to know the reality of the ineffable. As a prayer, I am asking us all to go beyond the limitations of our own doing. There is a vein of existence that will not be confined to logical reasoning. Can we now agree that sometimes feelings are a holy dispensation deeper than thinking?

The first snow falls as tiny flakes, barely heavy enough to reach the ground. I am no longer afraid of winter in its dull gray uniform, but that doesn’t mean I will stop yearning for the light. In this new way, I have begun to sense the essence behind each form; it encompasses everything.