Oh what a day of turning into one past forty!
Forty one . . . what’s to be done this year, with heart wisdom and integrity near, attention the insurance and clarity the shield against stupidity, vapidity, hysteria and muteness:: politeness up to a point, too much is self-dupeness!
Yearning, searing, churning, burning, forty one, what’s to be done cooked in the pot, what’s hot and ready to serve, what needs a longer stewing in juicy verve until it’s prepared, what’s itching to be shared, dared, bared?
Speak out when there’s something yuck to spit about, hold it in, practice the breathalation meditation name by name over and over, chew on succulent tips of clover, wisdom ageless sometimes nameless, Mother Teresa could be Baba Yaga, chew on chaga, Elephant and Swan do the trunk neck dance, glance::what’s attractive, what’s the thread, how many counts that cover head, in and out the heddles fill, warp chain winding yarn round and round and round the barn . . . lilting rythm, tilting reed, the loom awaits weaving in deed.
Forty one where am I now, anam cara come somehow, forty one dance and sing, release surrender with a new ring, malachite azurite, the whole world on my finger . . . .