gliding through

splendid  gliding through bangalow    glimpsing figures in doorways framed by fronded vegetation i haven’t seen for a long time everything slowed down and easy and then the hungry look in the eyes of those younger than me but somehow older  more somehow fully alive to the unfolding around us than i could ever be (have i ever been?) and all of us searching backwards and forwards for clues as to how to better be  because simple doing certainly isn’t going to cut it  so various truths and their offspring slowly emerge from behind multicoloured fortifications    a kind of truce is arranged  and we uneasily sit inside the prearranged space  figuring out how to find the way back inside the first glimpse of the first thing we ever saw  so that we can give it away as a kind of  difficult gift handed sideways  mostly so that its splendour can be realised without prompts   and it is    astonishing      inner sun radiates over italo-aust from the back of everyone’s head  and we then all inhabit the meeting place between this flow and the inertness of what it needs to engulf  so that together  holding on to whatever we can grasp  we crawl forward and also together   holding on even more tightly to whatever we can secure  we fly forward   not far  but certainly to the edge of the bluest ocean bleeding pink  so that by the time the silver one rises above the imaginary mist we are more or less one splendid body  that despite its articulation as the unimagined  still breathes  still hopes  still dreams  still with the eyes of children  all of us   still inches forward over what we’ve just excreted   but we don’t mind do we because that’s the truest straightest path isn’t it  over what we’ve just excreted and we beam from the eyes right through it  and as always the very last moment carries the essence of all of the preceding ones  the very last does  so we each in turn acknowledge it and carry its slowly burning embers onwards into the remains of our lives far from here  warming the everyday chill that awaits us with the kind of splendid glow that can only come from true effort  true stretching  true gestation  true face-in-the-mirror-you  and you know what?  all the words   all the figuring out of what’s real  what’s worthwhile  what’s essential  suddenly seems like the strategy of old   the strategy you resort to when new thoughts cause pain  and  even  the  memory  of  new-old  thoughts makes you look up into the sun  so that the dominant desire is for erasure    the tabula rasa that opens you up to splendid new alienscapes   splendid new fears    splendid old fears when the sound of your own breathing haunts you  so you turn to the sound of others as the only way back to yourself    and then you realise this is what it’s done for you and maybe for everyone else   it’s rubbed your face in the armpits of the other  and inside  that  furry nest  lies the secret to yourself  unlock it splendidly  now

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