i do not know where all of this magic comes from, maybe you can help me
Illusion of a detriment, leaving me
with an idea
of what
needs to be fixed
in a life.
Hafiz said,
spare the world your ideas of good
until you know that all is holy.
Until you know
that all
that is loose
hindered
tied up wings of a great
bird
are not problems
worthy
of resolve.
Rather,
they are wild hearts
covered
in locust honey,
aching
to be danced with.
Has anyone ever told you that the inside of your mind,
your heart,
your very soul,
resembles the excitement
of a seaside amusement park?
I do not know
where
all of this
magic
comes from.
Maybe you can help me.
I woke up one day,
and just as it was told to me:
the river of life turned once
and suddenly
you are 20
beginning again,
just as the wise woman
in Ireland
said.
She said
life turns slowly
like blue fire
and
you are there,
with the gardens
and the sounds of subways,
all the ancestral
voices
crowding out your
bottled fears,
ushering you
to
Go on
go on
go on,
move while you can,
sing your wild verse
from the far mountain
for all to hear.
You do not have to leave
to arrive
and you do not
have to
arrive
out of nowhere.
Pay close attention,
to the journey
pilgrim.
Consider your life
as a complex
abstract
table
that begs
not
to be deciphered.
Rather,
consider it
all colors
running together
to form
dreams
engaging
all organs
and bones of the body
to
listen
listen
listen
stand attention.
This life is moving
rather quickly.
Better get
to sifting
through
all
this
golden
honey.
Heart
cor
core
courage
a working
thirsty drum,
slicing
through the
core
of a sleepy world,
entering into
layers
of unheard tasks,
angels
singing
There is much magic to be done.
And what
we have imagined
all along
as the most difficult
momentum
to stumble upon,
is
blue fire beneath feet
quiet and waiting,
whirling unde
slow steps of children,
city noise,
the sound of grandfather,
the sheets of summer rain
that come
when the world stops
for a minute.
It comes,
just as suddenly as it goes,
and we are left
with the quiet of a room
and an eager
wish
to tell
what magic
we have just seen
in our own words,
our own verse.
Our very own verse.
To rise from slumber
quickened
by the rumble
of the voice
once a stranger,
now
a dear
dear
friend.