At nighttime my best ideas spring forth. They’ll be there, waiting under slippery folds of consciousness, emerging with flakey consistencies. The edges will slough off and I’ll lose them. Three words. I can remember three words. I won’t need to write them down. The morning’s light will dissolve them first into a twilight’s dimpled shade and then beyond as the clouds ebb and fade. Other words will come. When I’ve stopped worrying so much about the words coming I see it’s because words will continue to come. Brahman will not be satiated with merely triflings of words. He will create beyond ability to create and then create some more. Vishnu will affix the energy, once concentrated deeply in one time/space, as its dissolution by Siva will provide the energy needed to go beyond again.
And so. A dancing figure of bronze, wreathed in flame. A shellacked sand dollar gleaming from reflecting the light, which in turn reflects off the blurry clouds, seeping as they do with endless drips towards the earth. Feathers. Bones and shells. Cards forgotten and only half remembered anyway, refusing the ability to be placed into the warm, cozy space of remembrance.
A few lines of the fridge. A lack of omegas. But will their fulfillment take these places away? I press and shift morsels at lunch. Silver cutlery mixes with sterling. One of each in either hand I work them together in order to mash and delve into the conglomerations of food I’ve managed to procure. Procure how? By the energy of communication and relating. By visits and driving. By what I need to be in order to be a guest. Take stock. Notice what’s around me. Mimic and mime or courageously enter interior silence to externalize the expression I find therein.
I want to live in big broad stokes that, again, get wiped out along the canvas that we walk. I can see with giant eyes an arm that brandishes a wine glass and swipes away the thoughts of pushing morsels on plates the correct way rather than the impetuous way. I can see the nimbly footed elks graze the lands alongside. What do they do but behave in the only way that they understand how to? Mimicking the cars that drive alongside into dimensions of absurdity until they are the ones sitting in community eating situations, pushing food with silver formed to fit their hooves.
I push beyond. Beyond these elks, and moose too – but only through the signs that warn me of them after dark — beyond until there is something left to grasp onto that I knew once in a moment flitting by that didn’t really hold any permanence of meaning until now, now when there is something to move beyond.