Today we bide in the wrath and grief of Tāwhirimātea,
broken by his parents' breaking.
On Parliament Lawn the wind flows through the grass like water. I speak glory to my creator for making me tall and strong,
that I may stand in this storm.
Wood and brick? No, we make our world of earth and sand and trees. They are alive, everything is so alive
and the small rain on my face
is a thousand little kisses.
Dropping deep down into prayer, flow, trance Will sometimes do it. Or when I feel us connect. These things Show me how it feels to come home. To put down, as if forever, those last few things I’m still carrying And turn with empty hands toward the certainty of
Fiction, mostly. Explanatory note at end of story. I. When I wake this morning, my hunger for you hums in my cells before I open my eyes. It is so loud that I wonder how I could have been sleeping a moment ago. I would say you rise with the
This is a long post, but it is hard to overstate the importance to me of the ideas it tries to express. I will be fascinated to come back to it in a few months and see what I've learned. Where I was right and where I was
Yesterday evening I lay in a grassy meadow and looked at the tall intricate feathered stalks around me, and I thought, “If any one of these were the only one of its kind in existence, it would be treasured as an exquisitely crafted art object of surpassing beauty.” And of