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onceuponatime
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imago
migration
A world of solid rain out here, the subway is full and flooded, there is music in my ears as me and my umbrella wander through the falling colours and the pushing wind
Spiraling down the white tiled stairs through the white tiled labyrinth of white tiled tubes the roar of snakes under the city are filled with faces, watching the red yellow and blue panels rocking with the rhythm and climbing silently into the blinding light, they don’t mention their journey when they reach their destination
Stuck in the lift an hour the globe shinks to five people their stories and the bag of rubbish in the middle, the firemen wrench us out and we remember with fresh eyes
If you were looking back to the cookingpots in Egypt you would have an opportunity to return but instead we look on to find the altars in the desert place, to find the treasure in the sand and silence, moon and wind; we look on
Dustyfeet, there are macedonian pilgrims in the basement and fins baking carrotbread in the kitchen and hookah smoke curling to the ceiling and
new art on the walls here We are still arriving.
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subterranean metropolis
I forgot again how good underwater swimming is. It should most definitely be done more often. Most especially, backwards somersaulting over and over and over with a short breath in at each turn until water and colour and inside and outside are spinning like some kind of trippy washing machine… why does it feel so good to be disorientated? Being dizzy, getting lost, being upside down, moving fast… blurring the edges of yourself? Or just gliding on your back along the bottom of the pool: smooth and silent, the crowds above voiceless watery shapes, you invisible.
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on the wind
When the sky is high and grey-and-white banded, there is room to breathe and breathe in again. When the wind is so strong and wild it nearly pulls you off the top up and over into the air it is easier to feel that you are held. And when for a moment you are still, listening, waiting, it is possible to hear above the clamour, beneath the masses a song which is outside your own story; which shakes and breaks up and turns over, ancient-old folding over freshly dawn-breathed new and resettling what you can see into shapes that are wiser and stiller and more real than the lines you could build from the inside.
‘I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the hope and the love are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought.
So the darkness shall be light and the stillness the dancing.’ Eliot, East Coker
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lifted
Today if I could be an inanimate object I would be...
A hot air balloon. Sailing over the atlantic ocean at dawn.
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fleeting
Thoughts like springboards into oceans and thoughts like greenhouse glass and thoughts like bars of metal on my window.
I wonder how much I have forgotten.
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small brothers
apparently caleb (age 5) got a hamster this week; a girl hamster called dandelion. he is saving the name daffodil for when he has a baby girl of his own. i think it's good that he has real creature to play with; i am sure she
will get on well with his other 'imagination friends'; hide-and-seek and the name changing one, and his alter egos father christmas and the cat. i miss him.
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Calling all eligible ladies...
A letter I received in the post from Ghana, together with two dashing
photos and a card which says 'Afenhyiapa oo!' on the front:
Note,
Please Naomi am look for nice Christian white lady to marriage her, who's have a good attitude and obey principals. Age from = 26 to 29 yrs .
Anyone instrest can be write to me.
{Name, address and photos available on request, dear reader, if this applies to you!!]]
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