"."
__
Where to Begin?
© 2019 Iony Smith
Do I begin with the hawk hovering and hanging - or the two married
spiders skating and skirting across the watershed's paved,
pathway?
or the butterfly with such grace and poise fluttering and sailing
between my outstretched fingers - from its unique short and stubby
to Chrysalis and final full glory, gracing all presence here in
the boundless.
or from the rushing river below with frothy visuals cascading
streams (and dreams) over rocks and trees and whatever remains in
its carving path - where to begin?
The hawk on its lofty divine and predatory observational as it
pilots, waltzes and waves in the lightness of currents air.
Spiders, the same two as before continue their spindly locomotion
on so many legs, more than ever could possibly be needed yet I
have never walked as a spider.
As captivating as the other gifts being presented and to not
compromise rapture through comparative patter, unlike the spiders
and the current silence of the hawk and the Lepidoptera, the river
beckons with its mesmerizing and soothing whooshing hiss coupled
with its powerfully roaring underbelly, compelling and acutely and
effectively, sentient affective.
Our friends in nature alongside our own genuine attempts at
leveraging noisy worries for the greater enjoyment (and happiness)
in living - where to begin?
The spiders crawling walk is connected to its webbed life, the
water the river's blood and the air the steadfast parents of the
hawk, caressing, comforting and nurturing exalted lessons.
Transfixed, I cannot stop watching the bird that is watching me, a
world both born from chaos and harmony, where to begin?
When time becomes a moment of reflection and not a reaction to
imposed demands both in and outside of our control, to the fears
and embarrassment that we will forget how to love or that we won't
be loved
Being alone during points of light mirroring our private and
sacred meditations, where to begin?
From harsh conventions and the turbulence when the hawk cannot be
felt, the river cannot be heard, the spiders cannot be seen and
the wonderment of the butterfly not appreciated, a softening upon
coming again to the senses brings calm from the mightiest of
winds, from where and when they might blow - where to begin?
do I pull the weeds or let them grow, where to begin?
To return to all writings, please go here