a tribute to the moment, and this place
Yes child, maybe one day,
in another world, the horse arrives,
its rider gallant and able. But now
is not that world
and this is not that time. Now he
spins, having lost both horse and will
to ride–– and besides, has never learned.
You are alone–– yet, look around.
Find the company of everyone before
you who has ever learned the same.
There is no more now
to do than there was before, only
less illusion. Carry on. Chin up.
Giddy-up. You are the horse
and the rider. Go on.
of lead
Bird, sing into this place for the weight of what remains, for I mean to shelter what may not be saved.
Weight and the living.
We pass them between us, remaking the world one talisman at a time, each gift a salve, investing what we touch with the power of a sacred offering, so that even at a distance, they radiate life to the living.
Knowing this, we still forget. Reacting, it’s common to return to the old conditioning: things as mere tools. Here, one says, catch! A familiar thing, a cast off, a burden, an irritant: easy to forget the weight of these, the unexpected marks they will leave where they land.
We learn to hold and keep holding what makes us ill, sore, dizzy. We were made to carry, and it showed; something in us learned to accept until our legs went out again. The unlearning takes time. We invest new objects with new songs to help us remember, and touch them often, against forgetting.
