Wednesday, April 7, 2010


Up, in the blue and the black sky, I spend much time in thought and thinking,
trying to make sense of how is it that each of us, throughout time, within our histories, over the course of our lives and living,
under this blue and black sky together; yet, hurt each other so often knowing, unknowing...senselessly, poignantly, for always.

So after looking up and squinting all day at this blue and black sky, I go to the bench.

The Schubert f-minor, plaintive and calling, places my questions to the blue and the black sky into staccatos and sixteenths.
Pages of asking and thought and wondering and why, moving in time and sequence, my hands begin to give way and beg stop.

Tired questions hang upon my fingernails as I enter my bedroom and see my cat, deep in his slumber upon a fattened furred face.


I fall silently down next to him.
In the deep of featherbed, in the undulance of his tiny body with the exhaustion of my own, I lay down and look up.

And, I noticed that he lays in curves and his breathing moves in curves,
then, I, too,
felt the curves within me, circling and encircling as the shimmerings of the blue and black sky beheld the both of us,
down under, into the empty still question.

His honesty began to envelope me, and I started to float in a kind of blankness wherein he was teaching me and showing me...
Immediately, it seemed
the questions to the blue and the black sky, which plague and harass me most constantly, began to wane a bit.

And, too,

that depth of the f-minor entered me now, returning questions to the blue and the black sky with the White of pulsations,

in the unassuming fellowship of my sleeping muted cat, who knew this song long before it began in the very first place.


I learned then that it is gossamery Peace, and purity’s Acceptance, into the very way of all living things.

a suspended acknowledgement,

inside the curves,
inside the notes,
inside the questions,

to the blue and the black sky.