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.
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