don't go to sleep
this night
one night is worth
a hundred thousand souls
the night is generous
it can give you
a gift of the full moon
it can bless your soul
with endless treasure
- Jalāl ad-Dīn Rumi
translated by Nader Khalili
from Ghazal 947
Fountain of Fire
Curious beginnings determined her artistic sense of form, coloring stories of her eternal village, the other world. Cutting, planting, harvesting, complete slow rhythm of life. Her skill shined with every new expression as her heart sings.
Her simple direct feeling is all sensation.
Art enables her this beauty. She describes what she draws. Her words fly through forests with resplendent peacocks, birds of paradise.
A blind conversation developed a through line. Turn a blind eye.
Blindness listened. Blindness heard muted laughter before intuition gestured pink floating word worlds.
Laughter danced with exhaled attachment.
So. Blindness danced on through late yellow faltering light penetrating bamboo leaves spreading themselves over banana baskets impaled on swinging posts.
A bike bell rang. A young girl sat quiet watching the V girl do her toenails. Cutting, and trimming, lemon/lime soak, cuticles, translucent before applying a silver hued glossy glean. Nail by nail.
Blindness solved the mystery of sight crying tears of silence. A van labeled UNIVERSE filled with blank faced white Europeans trapped behind glass held their rampant desires and expectations on laps. Fidgeting uncomfortable languages floated into inner ears. Assaulting their long painful strides navigating yesterday’s regrets tomorrow’s fear and today’s dead lines.
Blindness practiced Tai-chi with precision.
Blindness exchanged blue ink for a dark shade of green. A handheld hair dryer waved hot air over a shampooed head. Mirrors whispered empty secrets.
Elements of silence said farewell. A series of eyes investigated decompression while swallowing fresh yogurt with peach slices near afternoon’s languishing empty promises intent on discovering new, make it new day by day. Explanations have to end somewhere.
In her village, the other world, the one she never left, Blindness threaded new beginnings on her loom waiting for pressure and tightness between notes feeling sunlight dress saliva beads blending a weave, texture and design saying hello Beauty.
neurotic tourists leafed temples
flowers waved goodbye
we grow without you
elephant cried
freedom
what you perceive as fantasy
is the product
of your imagination
what you perceive as reality
is also the product
of your imagination
without imagination
reality is nothing
+
five things i cannot do for you
eat
wear clothes
shit
piss
carry your body around
A web site, my-planet.org had a photo contest.
They asked for trees. He sent them an Angkor Wat monster.
They said it was a spectcular angle. They gave it an honorable mention. Here it is.
Towering, the tree said, thank you to the sun.
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