On a single walk around Fresh Pond, everything can change.
Oh, as little as that?
Like the changing of the seasons, or a frog rippling the moon.
Microtonal differences instead of Same as it ever was.
The pond is a reflection of you that you keep coming back to.
Infinite love moving towards its own reflections.
You encounter yourself there.
Fooled me.
Its surface mirror-still, then come the ripples: a double moon, clouds in oscillation, the reverberations of Canada geese.
Its expressions are determined locally: in a warm breath, in generosity,
in whatever singularity, in whatever change, in the Loveable.
Plop.
The kind of voice a pond has.
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1. Salvia divinorum around the pond
Dale Pendell: Salvia divinorum, from Pharmako/Poeia: Plant Powers, Poisons, and
Herbcraft Mercury House, San Francisco, 1995.
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Words become stepping stones, a floating walkway to cross the chasms between. What we really are is a web of interconnections, the summation of all of our relationships, all the people we know and those we are still to meet. It's not that we are in the web, the web is what we are.
in-control sage
smooth-moving sage
snake-skinned sage
oh-as-little-as-that sage
fooled-me sage
narrow-nosed sage
weasel-snouted sage
creeps-up-on-you sage
falls-all-over-you sage
owl sage
shape-shifting sage
skin-walking sage
who-are-you? sage
something-is-moving sage
get serious sage
look-we-have-come-through sage
on your own sage
she's leaving home sage
It has to do with specificity, the differentiation of form. Every form is filled with its own luminosity of detail.
Sometimes the sage whispers, sometimes it shouts.
Sometimes it tells you to sing, sometimes
it takes your voice, walks off, leaving you
rooted, eyeless, and with the kind of voice a plant has.
2. Sarah's birthday card
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But Immanuel said doubtfully, “It nevertheless moves toward its own reflections in just a few grains of sand. Consequently, its expression is determined locally, in a warm breath, in generosity, in whatever singularity, in the Loveable.”
And so I got microtonal differences instead of Same as it ever was.
It was then Carmela noticed: the paths followed by all, led to one another. It was mainly along those trails, with their smatterings of little speckles, where you could sit and listen beautifully with plant organs that are less ears inside, than out.
on a single walk around fresh pond, everything can change.
like the changing of the seasons in a rotation around the pond.
The pond is a reflection of you that you keep coming back to.
you encounter yourself there. it is a mirror
sometimes there is a shocking harvest moon
swans (nest)
flocks of canada geese
a double moon
Furu ike ya // The old pond
kawazu tobikomu // A frog jumps in
mizu no oto // The sound of water
- Matsuo Bashô
In a walk around the old pond, everything can change. A frog jumps in, plop.
(oh-as-little-as-that sage. she's leaving home sage)
and so I got microtonal differences instead of Same as it ever was.
Would you stare forever at the sun, never watch the moon rising?
A double moon ripples amidst the water’s sound
(Shape-shifting sage. Smooth-moving sage.)
It moves toward its own reflections in just a few grains of sand
Would you live forever, never die, while everything around passes?
It was mainly along those trails, with their smatterings of little speckles, where you could sit and listen beautifully with plant organs that are less ears inside, than out.
On a single walk around Fresh Pond, everything can change.
Oh, as little as that?
Like the changing of the seasons in a circle around the pond, or like a frog rippling the moon.
Microtonal differences instead of Same as it ever was.
Watch only for the ripples.
It was then she noticed: the paths followed by all, led to one another.
The pond is a reflection of you that you keep coming back to.
Infinite love moving towards its own reflections.
You encounter yourself there. It is a mirror:
Fooled me.
A shocking harvest moon, a swan’s nest, the flocks of Canada geese.
Its expressions are determined locally in a warm breath, in generosity, in whatever singularity, in whatever change, and in the Loveable.
Plop.
The kind of voice a pond has.