(Seeing the world with psychedelic eyes,
but totally ‘on the natch,’ just high on life.)
Standing in the kitchen,
my perspective shifting,
constantly re-setting itself:
here, inside—there, the room,
the palpable realness of both,
each thing exactly itself—
crunching, squeaking, vibrating,
whispering, sighing relief.
Hearing bells in the distance,
feeling that distance as home, as friend,
as an extension of me—expanding
and contracting, like breath,
yet always connected to a place
further inside than I can follow.
Feeling gratitude for the simplest things—
for my heart, mostly,
for its ability to repair itself,
to climb up out of the wreckage
of mistakes made, bruised, but undaunted.
Then another gift—the multi-layered emotions
of you coming near, touching me—
the attractions, electric,
the feelings of deep bond from years of
sharing the grit and juice and sweetness
of two lives inextricably intertwined.
Then sensing the circles we are part of—
larger and larger circles—
dozens, then hundreds, then millions of us,
the complete newness,
the uniqueness of each one,
yet our common strivings,
our need for each other,
our love of being alive.
Alive until the day when we are called on
to finally let it all go—each one of us
disappearing into the void.
Yet, as this happens, simultaneously,
the absolute ecstasy of it,
like being shot out of a cannon,
immediately filling the entire Universe,
we always were.