Gentle Rain

Counting Crows - The Ghost in You

Beautiful things don't end. They merely turn and turn and turn in a river, rounding the edges, fitting themselves more to your hand each time.

My life is all blessings. In every way I am blessed. There is so much love around me, and joy, and nourishment for body and soul.

greensinger has come and now has gone into a perfect grey drizzly Vancouver morning that makes the city smell so fresh and sweet that I could sit all day gulping air into my lungs through the window. I'm glad there was a day like this for him, a day without summer sunshine, so he could see the soul of the city leaking through.

It was very good to have him here. I needed to pause, rest, drink deeply and refresh myself before I continue on in this maelstrom that my life has become right now, and I have done that. Strength and purpose have returned.

On my table there is food from the farmer's market: green zebra tomatoes, walla walla onions, jalepenos and other hot peppers, unimaginably beautiful bell peppers, nectarines, mangoes, zucchini, grapes, so mahy wonderful things. I'm going to make fresh salsa later, and fry up some tortilla chips. The world will end, and then after a pause, will continue on again. Good food counts for so much. Greensinger made a vegetarian moussaka for me from farmer's market ingredients and from lentils. It has so many flavours I am constantly astonished when I eat it, every bite, and it's what Tim calls the perfect heat: it warms your mouth to the temperature the dish is best served at. My nectarines are ripening.

The blood has come at last, it's been off and on for the last couple of days, trying to decide if it's safe.

We danced in the kitchen while he was cooking, knocking over recycling as we went, and I had to concede that there is at least one person in the world that I can partner-dance with.

Our cat Ajax is happy and loved. It's rare with him. I'm thinking of switching the cats to a raw meat diet, my boss in West Van feeds her two huge dogs quite reasonably on meat and if I can get in on her supplier...

Now I curl up for awhile with my Bob, inside the warm shell of a house that nestles in the middle of a rainy city.

Time has turned to honey this morning. I can feel every moment passing, thick and sweet and slow, notes of music spilling out and hanging there for so long before the next one comes along. My awareness of the world has returned.

Thank you.

Greatpoets and More

More and More

More and more frequently the edges
of me dissolve and I become
a wish to assimilate the world, including
you, if possible through the skin
like a cool plant's tricks with oxygen
and live by a harmless green burning.

I would not consume
you or ever
finish, you would still be there
surrounding me, complete
as the air.

Unfortunately I don't have leaves.
Instead I have eyes
and teeth and other non-green
things which rule out osmosis.

So be careful, I mean it,
I give you fair warning:

This kind of hunger draws
everything into its own
space; nor can we
talk it all over, have a calm
rational discussion.

There is no reason for this, only
a starved dog's logic about bones.

Margaret Atwood

The rain is falling and I have such an urge to dance. I have such an urge to dive into exploration of someone's skin and smell and taste every inch of it. I have such a desire to lie on my back in a field naked with the raindrops pulling goosebumps from my skin and then finally plunge into a scalding hotspring. I have the inexpressable feeling of being part of something larger than me but in no specific way, and I want to honour that feeling by suiting actions to mood.

I have said this before and I will say it again: my life moves in cycles. Sometimes I revisit the events and feelings from when I was five, sometimes from when I was twelve, and now it's the time when I was fifteen to seventeen. I am having, not a rebirth or a reawakening, but a reopening. I am remembering love and closeness felt new, people who match different facets of myself, the heady taste of independence, plunging with confidence into uncharted waters.

I am writing freely again.

I wrote some emails to Angus about permaculture, and I want to rework them into articles and see if I can submit them somewhere. They're a very basic definition/overview and a foray into a few of the branches or species of permaculture. It feels good to have them: if someone doesn't know what permaculture is, I just copy-paste.

More

After Reading T'ao Ch'ing, I wander Untethered Through the Short Grass

Dry spring, no rain for five weeks.
Already the lush green begins to bow its head and sink to its
knees.

Already the plucked stalks and thyroid weeds like insects
Fly up and trouble my line of sight.

I stand inside the word here
As that word stands in its sentence,
Unshadowy, half at ease.

Religion's been in a ruin for over a thousand years.
Why shouldn't the sky be tatters,
lost notes to forgotten songs?

I inhabit who I am, as T'ao Ch'ing says, and walk about
Under the mindless clouds.
When it ends, it ends. What else?

One morning I'll leave home and never find my way back—
My story and I will disappear together, just like this.

Charles Wright

For Wik.