viscosity of words

16 Aug


It seems there is

a precious balance

to pouring motor oil

without a funnel.


and the pour swings out

in thick liquid swills –

missing the hole and

running down

the outside of the engine.

Go slow,

and you find

the same spilling sway;

the error to either side burns off in engine heat.

There is a balance in the middle.

It takes

my entire coordination

to adjust the tilt and

speed of the pour.

I –

a sommelier

for my car’s engine-

bent from the waist –

all points of my attention focused on the

delivery of the divine liquid

in the morning light

just to get to work

as a longhaired neighbor cat –

whom I call Esè –

gives full attention to

my movement.

He knows the delicate dance I learn, here in the pour.

This operation is silent

and serious,

and in this frame of mind,

I start to think that words are viscous

like this oil,

a delicate pour out of my mouth —

When I go too fast or too slow

they don’t land

and instead spill and burn off of you

in the heat of motion.

Let me

quiet – and

hear truth

beyond fast or slow,

beyond awkward hurry and

slow deliberation.


hush and

yaddah yaddah

lies a language we’ve forgotten.

At the edge of our senses –

in peripheral shadow

floats a liquid language so free of weight it is

riding the breeze –

free from the illusion of a me


11 Responses to “viscosity of words”

  1. tocksin August 16, 2013 at 2:27 pm #

    Fun morning read

    • marga t. August 17, 2013 at 5:14 pm #

      grease monkey musings 🙂

  2. Seb August 16, 2013 at 9:12 pm #

    Now that’s what I call going with the flow!

    • marga t. August 17, 2013 at 5:14 pm #

      🙂 You brought to my mind my student last semester who had “Go with the Flow” tattooed on her inner arm – and she held it up as a visual aid when she gave her presentation on Taoism. haha.

  3. Michael August 16, 2013 at 11:52 pm #

    You poured out the words just right that time.

    • marga t. August 17, 2013 at 5:16 pm #

      🙂 Thank you, Michael.

  4. seeingm August 17, 2013 at 11:47 am #

    In it, but not of it. Here, but not stuck as anyone or to any one spot on the map. Tire changes and cat watching and lines at the post office and interacting with the checkout person at target all become the most sacred moments in life…

    I am practicing being present with presence as I touch the the feeling of no separation without getting lost as the boundaries go. The oil hits the edges so that I remember who I am (and who I am not) and then when square on, I am empty as a mirror so “they” can remember who they are and who they are not through a clear pour as “I” am out of their and the way.


    • marga t. August 17, 2013 at 5:23 pm #

      Your connecting words resonate deeply with where I was when these words flowed out. I have often wondered about these holy moments in such odd settings – until I can see with the eyes that every/where is sacred. And so funny that the target checkout holy moments are more common than the prescribed sacred moments.
      Also it seems to me there is a Nice flowing connection with this discussion I stumbled upon:
      The dishes, the gas run, and the pregnant potentiality of presence in these moments…
      X! m

  5. reneetamara August 18, 2013 at 1:20 pm #

    wow. beautiful. just what my soul desired this morning. thank you, madame poetess.

  6. reneetamara August 18, 2013 at 1:21 pm #

    “I start to think that all vocalization is perhaps a delicate pour…”
    and I feel like the long haired cat as I re read this

    • marga t. August 18, 2013 at 2:27 pm #

      Hey – now your words loop back to me and I am the cat too 🙂 What a lovely morning to connect in these ways with your writing and now back here! I’m learning to trust this flow of meeting the real dealings of others in words beyond faces – feels a forgotten place I’m so happy to return to…Much love to you, Renee!

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