I must find the form for days after happiness.
The culminations and divisions that give life to time must be cultivated.
At present, it lies an unmarked wilderness of frozen earth, bound by straits of mind and mountain.
The miracle is here, in the rough geometry of irrigation inscribed upon lands that are ruptured
by the San Andreas fault. There is no relief in such a land, but there may be fruition.
It will come with the thaw and the spring rains, with the waking of eyes and bloom of thought and wound and wonderment.
There is a mountain reservoir, returning sky to sky in an echo of the unutterable.
The waking limbs of a morning swimmer ripple the ether, bring to consciousness the infinite, in realising a body from formlessness of space.
The branches of the lightning tree are corralling alcoves of blue from immensity where the winds may be comprehended, cupped like water in swimmers’ hands.
This is the miracle. For the window that opens within, il cielo en una stanza, is surely a surrender.
In contemplation, we cannot forever evade the shuffling of selves, the chiaroscuro of our souls, and treachery of our bodies.
An act of humanity, conceived in freedom, that alone is the articulation of finite order and greater chaos amid man’s myriad realisations. Let me be crushed in the agora, by the jostling and the endless cries for war.
There is no dignity. The wings of the dove cannot lift the humanity of which it despairs; the crowds feel only a passing shadow of grace cast from above.
Those who live here, they have the touch of Abraham, that steadiness of eye that watches descendants in the constellations,
knowing that days may unravel our aphorisms and kisses: we cannot make an epitaph of moments, but only of the earth. Found me once more in myself, in truth.
Grant me the skill to speak simply, with words rooted deep in the silence of this place, in the water that is the desert’s heart.
In the momentary clasping of hands, we broker anew the frontiers of personal silence, forge a treaty between these fragments of wilderness.
The need to speak, to read, to breathe, stands as perpetual affirmation that we are always suffused with another, formed in our hunger for impurity.
It was as expressions upon a face that I first loved kindness and integrity.
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