desert & me.

i was surprised to find out that i can laugh by myself & it'll still taste sweet. sometimes i feel like the hollow ones i make when i'm in a crowded room are all i have & they always leave an empty grim on my tongue. but i just discovered that desert sun and finally freed skin make for joy that's light & laughter that cures.

my broken body made me slow & led to a journey halted, which seemed just right due to where i've gotten lost just now. it made me remember that it's not always about reaching an end, but maybe about discovering the going. maybe i didn't see the magic arch, but my toes found sand & heart felt warm & i forgot about all those endless "where i should be's."

i think the wind & the stone & the cactus spines made me remember there usually are more pressing things than the future. i got lost in the desert & the desert got lost in me & now i can breath clean air again. enough with that future drowning, now i'm just loving each step as i get there.

castles & spoons.

sometimes there's something crawling in my veins that makes me start to dig. it's almost like its telling me to slump so i can look up and find where i should be going & forget where i stand. then my present/future suddenly become a dichotomy & neither are good enough.

now i'm thinking on what paulo says, we need to see the castle walls while never spilling an oil drop; otherwise we're neither present nor foreseeing.

i think durangan summer made me focus on my oil spoon & i never looked up. my months here ticked by, each day building new walls, & once my eyeballs finally reached up, my brain started to sag. i hadn't noticed that my castle came to brooms & rags & plastic smiles, not salvaging words that tie its speaker to earth, ritual, and dirt.

once i saw my castle walls were not what they must be, i slopped oil down my front and made a mess of my present. i tore down all that i'd created and made it something ugly. i forgot that even though i'd seen the walls, i can't drop the precious oil from my spoon.

instead i need to see my current castle being one that i'm renting for a time, til i can build one of indigenous words. i must still be grateful for its shelter. my current castle is laden with desert & mountain breathing, & full being my own being.

i need this part-time castle so i can have one full time that won't crumble. without a foundation of life, what would my word castle be built on?  my oil spoon may be empty of my deep set passion, but at least it's full of beauty.

so now i will refill my spoon & have eyes opened, hopefully no longer ones drooping. my present is building what will make my word castle a home of sure joy, rather than empty dictionary piles that weigh my soul.

one step at a time, grasshopper, lest you drop your spoon.

clocks.

i think we have rhythms just like nature & just like most things. & a lot of times those rhythms run on timers & when they go off they shout.

like with my clock that struck go & sent me to my new world full of red earth & front porch bears. i didn't know i was meant to go til i heard "get the hell out," & a final stroke that pointed southwest.

or with the one that reminded me & my purpose are decided & that the tongues that fall silent are my greatest grief; this one didn't need to roar quite the same, as it only needed to speak over the mind-lulling open/close of a cash drawer. this clock is ticking for books & lessons & languages that will be stuffed into brain so some beauty can be saved that the world has yet lost.

or with the one that ticked off the love & just ticked it back on when the time fit. moments apart can be just as blessed as those spent with, & now the second's nearing that our clocks will be met. then we can smash both their faces & linger in bed later than needed.

my clocks are calling, & they seem to be right. maybe time's made-up, but at least it keeps us from forgetting.