silk mirth subtle, part iii

& dear reader, there is more . . .

beyond the details . . . a place deeper still where to loose oneself is sublime ...

silk mirth subtle, part iii

this particular day, this 100th monkey began calling out one of his regular mantras: "remember when you stretch your body, you stretch your mind . . . '

this time, though, he continued . . .

'when you stretch your mind, you open this big beautiful space ...

where you can invite your soul to come in . . .'

&, of course, he is talking of that internal, intangible place where amazing, unpredictable 'things' happen . . . and afterward you say, 'i don't know where that came from' . . . almost as if you went temporarily unconscious, while something was being channeled through you . . .

in a recent poetry class, i tasted this rarefied state .. .

for our in-class assignment, we were asked to pick one from a stack of poems, each in an unrecognizable language . . . the delicacy & elegance of characters on one particular page beckoned me . . . then i heard, 'ok, now, translate it' ... the room went silent . . . as every other poet started writing, i stared at mine . . . a rush of slashes & marks...my mind was blank, as i began hearing the clock tick, the heat clunk on, then off again . . . i peeked up at the teacher arranging her notes, shuffling her papers, apparently unaware of my struggle . . . 'i must write something down; she is serious,' i thought . . . i began mechanically, primitively noting what i saw: 'stick figures, ballerinas, warrior, ladders . . elegance, even in jumble' . . . parsing through the intrigue of strokes & cross hatchings . . . my mind shifted (i know not when) into another realm of consciousness . . . there, i was writing according to a different energy altogether: 'go into strength & be solid, a ladder for others to climb. let tears fall & then support them' . . . the words were coming from a space of absolute mental suspension

then just as suddenly, no more words; i considered going on but could not. the poem was complete . . . the words, like a whisper of balsam . . . occurred in a moment . . . then . . . effort released, energy evaporated . . . i cupped my head in my hands & closed my eyes . . . i was spent & had no real sense of what i'd left on the page . . .

only upon reading it aloud to the class did i begin to grasp the intensity of what had been recorded there ... a sense underscored by the silence of the room, the teacher nodding her head, speechless. one colleague eventually commented, 'it is oracular, offered with such grace & humility' . . . the poem was the product of extreme focus, coming into this world from a place of perfect balance between the kick and the stretch . . .

'if you kick too much but stretch not enough, you'll fall . . . if you stretch too much but kick not enough, you'll fall,' explained this 100th monkey . . . 'you have to find the balance between the two ...'

xoxo
cocoa