seeing through to the next pages of the calendar
(as we most certainly do)
gifts us a nostalgic ache
for the things so full in today
that will surely go
away:
landscape and conversation
the food we eat together –
see me
stretched out in a queen bed with my arms flung every way
dwelling in my solitude,
while also missing so soon the extra blanket,
pillows, oxygen so ample for me right now…
I look to the popcorned ceiling
searching for a clue.
in what manner will these things go?
Your hello makes me teary for the encased goodbye within,
the fresh and grooving song becomes old before the first time through,
and august’s heat and sliding sun push heavily on toward frost –
the prophetic plague: that
within each extreme, the opposite can’t help but call for
we cannot escape the tax for taking on this life
there is ache in fulfillment,
a bitter pulse in sweet,
the smell of death in birth.
Life as Improv 
Really nice…
Thank you 🙂
“stretched out in a queen bed with my arms flung every way, dwelling in my solitude”
I must confess Marga, a completely absurd Spoonerism crept into my bonce here, and which I feel compelled to share:
“stretched out in a queen bed with my arms flung every way, swelling in my dollitude”
Ridiculous, I know.
H ❤
I was counting on you, H, to lighten the mood around here and you didn’t let me down (perhaps coming closer to a truth than one could ever admit:).
Very inspirational poetic justice.
hmmm, pondering the idea of poetic justice…thank you for visiting.
Lovely.
Yes, you are 🙂
I’m not sure if it’s the mood or not that you have in mind, but I remember skulking around the house the day after soccer camp ended… after a week of living away from home– joking and laughing and dreaming– then back in my bedroom in on an afternoon without places to go or people to see, taking refuge from the summer heat, listening to the ceiling fan’s rhythmic imbalance, and wondering how the heck to live in my own life…? Who was I that last week? Not this me who is here now, surely… Yet the very same… We are the point into which both sides are dissolving… Your writing, as ever, dredges up flavors of life I had forgotten about– memories of the playground, of the school bus, of those flying dreams– reminding me again of the range and subtlety of direct experience.
Searching for a clue,
Michael
And here, you transport me right back – what a wonderful rally we have going! I somehow feel that we are all always sharing these moments at once through out our lifetimes as each reset button is pushed and we find ourselves at the pause before we enter into new phases, the point where we are flung out on beds staring up with a feeling that doesn’t have a name – an aching in the stillness before the new phase begins- we are all playing out the range and subtlety together, but it sure feels lonely here, sometimes. Just your ability to meet me here right now fills in many of the clues I was searching for in my ceiling. So grateful i am for your willingness to time travel to collect some errant puzzle pieces that fell behind the bedside table! m
Beautiful Marga. It all passes away but we seldom live in that truth leading us to really appreciate what *is*.
I remember having spent a week, many years ago, at a first nations gathering in the Yukon – a week of camping, gathering with like-minded people, several times in a sweat lodge with native elders leading. It was a time of rich freedom. And then I returned to ordinary life and sobbed deep gut wrenching sobs that it was over, and now I had to face the difficulties of “real life”. That time of peace and freedom had fallen away. From whence did it come? Where did it go? And how do I recapture it? By melting into presence where there is simply being, and birth and death are just concepts, and all is love. But I didn’t understand that then.
with love, Alison
Oh, how you do meet me here, Alison! I ache sometimes for something I’ve not yet met, but know so thoroughly still. This tiny drop of the ocean needs to taste her own saltiness at times before being able to melt back in that ocean. You meet me here, as well as in the field beyond – what a gifting! xo! m
Wow a very soulful poetry. Keep writing more n more
Aren’t you something, younger than my students yet already spreading your love of reading and words – keep on enjoying your portable magic!
Oh thankyou, i’m 15. Your blog rocks
wasn’t it
such a nice
life, marga!
how wonderful
to now be
enjoying
the next one 🙂
Yes, barely remembering
someone named
marga 🙂
It really made me smile. 🙂 I’m captivated.
thank you 🙂
You did it again, my my.