10 January 2011

  cover of book, stray birds R.Tagore (1916)

CHAPTER ONE - Rabindranath Tagore
WEEK ONE. conversation by clair and alex


Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh. R. Tagore.

~ ~ ~

everything is one. leaves whisper secrets of life and death round our feet and ankles, birds come and go in the same way. everything which is alive is dying.... is that true of everything?
Everything is two, too. After I sigh I breathe in. Everything which is alive is living. Even as it dies. The end is in everything, but beginnings are too. The leaves underfoot may be dead, but look what they inspire. Breathe in...

am i ready to really breathe?.... its a long time coming, shallow footsteps of breath have come awandering... but they must...or i must... push a little more deeply 
Breathe. Push. Deeper. Birthing, or nine months earlier. Either way is creative. We dig through the ground and try and find the living. Is it all just struggling through rocks and earth? Sunlight dapples ground through leaves as they fall. Colour dances under footsteps. There are songs about autumn leaves. 
      'we dig through the ground and try to find the living'.
i like that.

what is capable of loving...  is the sunshine? like honey it falls, getting smiles from faces as it does

...and animals who like to live alone, do they love less?

If I can love then so can you (and the sunshine and the honey and the lonely and the falls and the smiles and the faces).
So nothing can. Or everything. Is love? Everything is love. Nothing is.
The leaves don't crunch underfoot once the rain comes. Mulch underfoot. Something to grow out of.
When will I grow out of it.
Love. Mulch.

mmm.... lovely.  the trust...the surrender that we will feel where to grow from... and to.... it will be dark,  there will be roots and depth... 

...like intuition...is strong like special soft magic.  magic whos ears pick up the silence in things... the place where the feelings are... some feelings who get covered in soft blankets and some who wake up like flowers.

Wake up. Can't see the trees. Can't see the birds. Everything is in mist. Clouded hidden and lost.
Want that autumn sadness back. Better than this bleak waiting to grow. Silent sleeping flowers must wake up soon.
Roots laid in autumn leaves wait patiently.
Can I?

what was nice about the autumn sadness?
There's nothing wrong with endings.

alexs blog is at 

No comments:

Post a Comment