Buried In the Nelson Express was news of an afternoon workshop on the state of affairs in Chiapas.
on the state of affairs in Chiapas.
My sweetlove, Shaun, who is thirty years younger, wanted to attend.
awe, respect and safety in the presence of the Zapatistas.
hosted by the people down there in the jungle 'out of nothing'.
where things were already set up.
enough to drive two hours on a sunny saturday to attend.
and a smaller, curvy coriander-coloured fungi.
that he would go to the tipi for some sleep.
I would play music and tidy the house.
My attitude soured a bit.
slightly nauseated and mildly numb.
The music seemed wrong, too measured.
I wondered how it is they are so 'spiritual', so expensive, so desired.
Mebbe i never have enough..
and give opengrace to the larger mind.
at the height of fence rails and fruittree tops.
Ah, any of you would have loved that part..
'The whole world is such a bad, bad place.
I think I'm not even borne of this world.
and all other indigenous peoples.
Shaun's crying and howling, his deep grief echoed from the tipi.
No amount of long holding would soothe him readily.
No words were nearly enough.
he roared and writhed for hours.
i can never really figure out why i cry.
in their best interest to destroy these people.
they didn't know how it feels to see and smell death.
a hope so pure and so great.
Holding his hair, kissing his eyes..
in myself i visualize, like Gordon said..
of setting priorities and following that strand of 'what i need to know'.
Outside the tipi, all around, the coyotes began singing.
extra extra long last night, after our silence.
Out the door, moonshadows were crisp on the heaped snow.
it was not even particulary ecstatic.
We did not visit that place of philosophical abstractions.
To call this a 'bad trip' would be trivializing.
and would not for a moment be wasting his life.
between me and a bluestalk tea.
a most pleasing entry into sleep, like prayers or blessings.
to do the work I must do.
He reported a sensitivity to it.
I felt my ordinary-serene self, above all the other selves.
a part of me that others recognise and cherish immediately.
and still, as yet, walk three feet above.