Feelings are apart of who I am. They are a current that runs through me. They can tell me to attend to something that is impacting me. They can tell me to follow a deep desire. They can be distortions of thinking, old patterns, or induced by lack of sleep or drugs (Painkillers after surgery were a hard teacher). Sometimes they are only a tiny part of me. For me feelings are like dreams. They need attention and space to breathe and move to be part of my life and flesh out who I am.
And now the poem:
THE WEATHER
For Miyazaki
green green all is green morning: pressure building mounting compression darkening clouds thicken sky and me about to burst a Scheherazade wind sweeps in redwood boughs blow down and up skimmering the roof of the old Dutch barn setting off needles in a twisting twirling dance
and then the rains came
a rush of water tumbles down is struck sideways by sudden gust and swims across the sky
a shift in the wind
water streams straight down in glistening strands the sound of fall earth becomes drum and it in turn plays me
release
the wind comes back bouncing
puffs of air displace drips with pockets of air patterns of water and clouds of space— silence in the empty places
a shift again
rain begins to slant in a diagonal vector— moves to syncopated pings: ping pingping pingpingping ping (my lips curl in smile) stopping stop stopped
the very air becomes a factor
still, clear I can see straight through to forever