Dying/broken/forgiven.... now I begin

Born: 17-06-56....gemini.... monkey
re-born: 3-09-80
born again\found: 14-04-08
other notable dates: 10-03-68; 03-09-87; 23-03-96;
1-05-98; 31-01-02; 5-04-04

Interests: movement, stressed/transgressive embodiment, lived experience (body\space\time\relation)
expression ( word, dance, text, image, story, music, poetics)
learning, yielding......

Hopes for the blog:
offer up the wild intersectedness of lived experience and engage others in creative, expressive, perhaps irreverant, hopefully playful, and respectful encounters....
enact kindness
create moments of pause for disclosure, discovery, stillness

Thursday, February 19, 2009

...into moment now...

It was that word,
so unself-consciously placed in the midst
of a lovely phrase...
that might have begun
the cascade into moment now
or next
or then
I said " I don't think I have ever been wooed"
but I was wrong
or, at least, mistaken
not forgetful
enough for blood patience
when the memory remembering
itself
calls out a whisper
or a murmur
so claims Rilke
that's often enough

I was teaching him how to dance
and was not interested
in pursuit
only in being
attentive and attuned
disposed to what movement can offer
I suppose that's why his attentiveness
was so shocking

Being wooed.
It still makes me smile to think of it
this manchild
dark as a flame
devastating and without guile
heartbreaking
ebb and flow
inevitable
as tides
& moons
& time

still, I dreamed him the other night
on the nether side of catastrophe
inexorably
we are drawn together
his body, though freshly healing,
is tender and broken
in the places where I touch him
trembling, trusting
he welcomes my hands
we hold each other
we behold each other
bleeding a veil of yellow
over a bathroom floor of black and white tile
terrible sharp-edged imagery
made soft and luminous
by the strangeness of dream

he was not as he was, younger and so beautiful
but as he would be, now
tempered
rougher edged
somewhat the worse for wear
and even more beloved for it
no less for that playful spark
in those eyes
that always could hold mine
a sweet dream
surprising
it might have begun
this cascade into moment now
and next
and then
I'm enough of an Irish witch
to wonder
about the tethering of hearts
sending(s)
sounding(s)
echoes felt at the carnal bedrock of dreaming
these portents,
these hauntings
from this man
who wooed me.
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5 comments:

  1. AnonymousFebruary 20, 2009 at 7:59 AM

    Those Irish witches tend to pick up on vibes that are real. Laughter is the memory I have.. lots of it! This was a good one to share.

    MIMI

    ReplyDelete
  2. HarlequinFebruary 20, 2009 at 9:33 AM

    Mimi-- thanks for these thoughtful sentiments you have given me.... the laughter will have to be another rendering.... all in good time...
    warm regards,
    Harlequin

    ReplyDelete
  3. human beingFebruary 20, 2009 at 1:36 PM

    this childman seems so familiar to me... hmmm... isn't he that archetypal man that resides in us?
    animus...
    and our relation to him decides where we are...

    where am i?
    :)

    thought-provoking and beautiful...

    ReplyDelete
  4. HarlequinFebruary 21, 2009 at 6:03 AM

    Animus... or chimera, as likely!
    the archetypal is nice.... especially since I wanted this piece to function not only as a tribute to a number of things (for me, at least) but also for it to evoke idiosyncratic remembering for any reader.... I wanted it to be a possible memory...
    anyway, it was an absorbing few hours/days,weeks... who knows?? ...of dwelling;
    thanks for your thoughtful comments...
    nice to see you here
    Harlequin

    ReplyDelete
  5. human beingFebruary 21, 2009 at 1:47 PM

    thank YOU dear friend...
    it really has that resonating feature...

    ReplyDelete

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