The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
dancing
through
the web
What is the color of laughter? -- paint it void. It will have to do, beneath the dry breast of an angry sky, with fellow citizens in denial. We are immersed in climate change, with mixed feelings. A universe of scientific theories, the descriptions being far too limited, the metaphors being merely dust that missed a waterfall in the eyes of a dove.
People, myriad creatures, the breathing planet moves through space, a candle in a paper boat, dark shores not offending. Words, however, speak beyond themselves and disappear.
Oh, read Whitman and a bit of the book of John and such. Here are no leaves. This is no sutra tied in knots.
When no one's looking I talk with a lizard in the front yard who does understand. Does that offend, being as somehow a category was applied? I am not offended.
Strange memories rise from the involuntary vault, fireflies stringing circus lights up the Eiffel Tower, swaying with the wind, singing sister Liberty at the Library of Congress, which recites poems on its own, playing a digital piano. Surely everyone knows, but there is this thing about daily bread.
Have we come far enough? On this earth with its precious rivers? We have come the distance between toes. Belle Bhagavad Gita – I am become the destroyer of worlds! I was elegant math once, so beautiful.
Not far enough, I cry. Here on this miracle beyond words, and people still tightening their own string until the tone becomes unbearable.
It snaps! The universe recoils a milliquark, nudging the one next door, noticeable if the doors of perception were not fairy tales. It's all in the wrist. Just visualize where it's going and don't aim for the center because everything is the center of everything. Walk carefully through city streets. Remember the forest of Andromeda, then stop the world. Here it is.
It?
Oh, I knew the web would dance! See the void?
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_