Thursday, August 6, 2009

(no subject)

i slept like a deity on monday night, to my delight.

as i write now, right now, an owl calls.

i have been here for the week, to take care of things. it has gone quickly, slowly.

there is a zen koan which says "if you meet the buddha, kill the buddha". i always liked that one even though i don't really understand it, in much the same way that i enjoy reading yeats. running through the woods, i pause to admire a patch of mushrooms just emerging from the earth, their small round heads sitting atop fat belly stems like so many little buddhas. in greeting, i shout obscenities at the wet dog. no one but me is concerned.

the wind chants in my ears and i ache for something wild. i listen for the call of the wolf i saw here once, peel the landscape with my eyes for a cougar, longing for a growl. nothing comes but the call of an old oak tree so i follow. a good one to climb, a place to be buried. i stand on a burl and lean on a fencepost, stretching toward limbs out of reach. another day.

i step over the downed fence and onto the adjoining land. i am trespassing, but i feel at home. grasses brush my breasts and shoulders while the waxing moon peers through the clouds. there is still a for sale sign there, i see, in the weeds.

it took more than an hour to unwrap the piano. it sits in the northwest corner, near the bunkbed panel router and the back door of the shop which opens toward the pond, where frogs sing yet. for ambiance i bring two matching lamps that were once my grandmother's, happy to find that the bulbs have not burnt out in these years past. i play, i hope to remember where my hands go. i try to control, but my fingers find chords without my knowing how. my memory precedes me. i am amazed, grateful.

i wake too early in fright and my heart pounds like a drum all day, not in a good way. i can hear it, not in my ears but in my chest. the day is long and the weather changes. i take off all my clothes and lie down in the grass, wind caressing my thighs and sun burning my nipples, warming my belly. i imagine building a living sanctuary with only two ways in and out, where i will post 'no trespassing' signs when i wish to be alone. at the sound of every passing car i flinch. i want only this, to be naked in solace. to be in privacy, in my time.

it's quiet in the evening. the sun sinks and i tie on my shoes. in a peaceful moment i hear the braid of my hair in the mirror.

again i play after dark, and i practice this time, until the secret noises behind me drive me out into the night. beer in hand, i walk down the long driveway at midnight. gravel crunching underfoot breaks the silence under the full moon. i fetch the mail. i sing old songs. i sleep until morning.

today i put on my swimsuit and feel at home, mother and child at once. i see a cedar wax-wing, the first since the one in my dream who hovered before me in slow motion and who i knew at that moment to be my mate. i sit on the roof and watch swallows dive into the grey sunset, see the wax-wing once more, close, before it flies away to the oak grove. there are small clouds above the barn roof, and i am at peace.

the moon is just past full and so am i. so are you. the owl calls again, just now.

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