How little enlightenment gets in
Deep Morning
Let us in our shallow softness ponder how deep the morning is. It arrives in fine layers, atomized wafers, interplexed and pulsating, just outside our seeing of it. Birds move through deciphering patterns given to their familiarity, hunger and the diminishing of it, continuance and the increasing of it. I sit at the glass with coffee and marvel how little enlightenment gets in. Sip by sip I detach and immerse in all I cannot comprehend. The information idles before me in all its glorious complexity and simplicity, but I lack the trick that turns magic into a spoonable science that fits my bowl.
So I sit and scratch as I’ve seen cheetahs do on the savannah when prey eludes them. The brain heats up to peg into the red and I give it a cooldown by noticing how fog flushes the trees, how a hawk holds place in the near sky on a branch made perfect for her perch. It is enough not to know. I savor fresh ground, under oak, in my cup. In the distance, quail call and answer and I resist the urge to join in. Diffuse light gathers to sharpen the green. It is enough. It is enough.
So I sit and scratch as I’ve seen cheetahs do on the savannah when prey eludes them. The brain heats up to peg into the red and I give it a cooldown by noticing how fog flushes the trees, how a hawk holds place in the near sky on a branch made perfect for her perch. It is enough not to know. I savor fresh ground, under oak, in my cup. In the distance, quail call and answer and I resist the urge to join in. Diffuse light gathers to sharpen the green. It is enough. It is enough.
Joseph Gallo
September 21, 2011
post-time 8:58 AM
3 Comments:
...answering, of course, the proverbial and perpetual question, Joseph; that being "when is?"
The magic is no trick, my soulful friend. Even now a veil descends, and indeed what answers can hope to match
up against the questions themselves?
I was introduced to cheetahs by none other than Marlon Perkins. Perhaps you also. What a dream; the natural world in the eyes of a young boy or girl. It was a place paramount to me within my otherwise often intellectually and emotionally shuttered mind. Yet, here was the imagination, connecting, confounding and configuring the imagination itself. All with the depth of some far off glory taking upward wing or in pondering swift disappointment often bleating thru the songs of the heart.
Much like you're beautiful piece of peace represented here. Bravo.
Miss you, my friend.
b
He who knows he does not know, knows.
Very nice piece, Joseph. Thanks!
Thank you, boys, for your comments. :-)
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