freeing the dust

a moment, amongst moments. thinking it would open up on to something, and not collapse under its own weight, become thought again.bright and gleaming.stone blossoming into flower, dreaming of star.

The water
flashes
each time you
make it leap -
arching its glittering
back.

Each moment slowed down, frame by frame. You return to it, read it slowly, as you imagine doing (ideally) with your life. Where that (ideally) comes in was tricky. The water, the thing, on its own, isolated. The world before us. Then human agency; then the world again, the world alive, independent existence.At the centre: the ability to make something happen, to be connected to the world in that moment. I think, I am thinking. To 'I am'. The gaps covered by that arching back, like a salmon returning home, a rainbow of hope, a mirror, doubling what was one. The salmon is the stream. 'I think'. The 'I' is given, must be lovingly recognized, acknowledged.Home, your perpetual origin, was carried in your heart,all along.Water helped you remember, bring you back to the black land, where your fair hand turns, and turns again, the dark pages.

Rabbi Mendel of Kotzk asked one of the disciples of Rabbi Moshe: "What was most important to your teacher?"

To which he replied: "Whatever he happened to be doing at the moment"

I said, the summer garden I planted
bears only leaves–leaves in abundance–
but no flowers.
And then the flowers,
many colors and forms,
come forth...

What magic denial
shall my life utter
to bring itself forth?