cafune
“Taught from infancy that beauty is woman’s sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.”
Sense impressions versus intention.
I feel deeply and must refine my thought process.
Focus, the little birds say. There are so many—azure Mexican Bluebirds flocking in the trees.
A list of sense impressions:
A walk past the crab apple tree with white petals.
The sky is often red at sunset.
My heart is thirsty.
The groan of the heater excites me.
Wind on my face is (still) an extravagance.
Scented rooms satiate my desire for conversation.
I carry a keyring to feel like I belong somewhere.
Colloquial scripts at the yoga studio are stifling.
The cacti are here for me while I am here; is it arrogant to say that the world appears as it is because I claim it so? I see things as they are owing to my perception, shaped by experience. I am the total sum of my actions. My thoughts arrive through me and what I have done or from The Other. To negate the knowledge of the social construct, I must do. I gather impressions on my body like sunlight, absorbing everything until I burn with so much desire only a blackout will cool the landscape. It is coldest at 4 AM when the earth has released the heat of midday. The largest sigh of the universe; everything is dispersed to the plains.
I exhale to relieve tension. I shower to rinse the residue of The Other from my being. It’s a life-long practice of protection without the use of a shield. I want to take it all in and breathe it out. The earth has 4.543 billion years of practice surrendering to its inhabitants. She will replenish regardless of The Other. My only hope in life is to express a similar resilience. I will receive The Other and release what I do not need. Most of what comes in will be purged, I recognize. We consume to expel. The brilliance we manifest is traced by its shadow.
I do—three characters that have the potential to redesign the neural pathways in the brain. Two words that sharpen the bodily sensations and affect the breath rate, brainwaves, mental fluctuations, heartbeat, and action. Reshape your narrative in two syllables. What I’ve learned: to live, I don’t need to know the hard lines of my intentions. What I intend will appear to me through sensory impressions. To live, I must do. I thrust myself out into the dialogue! I was taught to spin my fork clockwise into the mound of spaghetto until enough gathered between utensils to fit in my mouth.
I’m still spinning.
It’s raining today in Flagstaff, and
My heart is no longer as thirsty.
Photo, source.
