I considered the reflection you posed as it personally applies.
Self, mother, and father are bound up in a proverbial gordian knot—made so by despotic enterprises, like Euclid's first postulate:
"I command that it be granted me
To draw a straight line from any point to any point."
It seems so simple in hindsight, when such demands are flattened out on the page.
But the world operates differently.
Simple weaves complicate the path towards saliency the further we elaborate in the names of our pursuits.
My own unbendingly primitive psyche once assumed the world could correspond truly to my statements. My flesh was further twisted into a double helix by inherent notions that I could discover what I was in the process of determining what I was not.
I aspire toward poetry, but I often have to work backwards to find my muse's dwelling.
Sometimes my affinity for words outweighs my proficiency with analogy.
Beautiful prose. It reminds me that the anima can convince us our cultural shadow is our true ecosystem and that nature is the shadow. Lashing out at us enraged. Wonderfully worded, powerfully painted. 🙏🏼
Kameron, as someone who listens deeply to her body’s quiet wisdom, I felt such resonance in your poem's contrast between the mind’s restless storytelling and the body’s grounded Truth.
For whenever I slow down and really tune in, it’s my body that reminds me where my real stories live ... steady, sacred and always, always waiting to be heard. Thanks so much for sharing. 🙏💖
There is a constant conflict between images: the straight and narrow obelisk and the arboreal tear that crooks and bends in pursuit of life's elements. No distance will be made between us. I'm stuck in its drain until I can train the noise to fall into alignment.
Nature's way!
Kameron, why is self-expression in poetry so complicated?
Thank you for your interest, Larisa.
I considered the reflection you posed as it personally applies.
Self, mother, and father are bound up in a proverbial gordian knot—made so by despotic enterprises, like Euclid's first postulate:
"I command that it be granted me
To draw a straight line from any point to any point."
It seems so simple in hindsight, when such demands are flattened out on the page.
But the world operates differently.
Simple weaves complicate the path towards saliency the further we elaborate in the names of our pursuits.
My own unbendingly primitive psyche once assumed the world could correspond truly to my statements. My flesh was further twisted into a double helix by inherent notions that I could discover what I was in the process of determining what I was not.
I aspire toward poetry, but I often have to work backwards to find my muse's dwelling.
Sometimes my affinity for words outweighs my proficiency with analogy.
I love your model: You are as complicated in prose as in poetry. Thank you. Sorry for being late, I forgot to read my email today.
Thank you.
Beautiful prose. It reminds me that the anima can convince us our cultural shadow is our true ecosystem and that nature is the shadow. Lashing out at us enraged. Wonderfully worded, powerfully painted. 🙏🏼
I’m moved by the way you see, Phillip. Thanks for reading.
Always a pleasure to read your lines. 💚
Kameron, as someone who listens deeply to her body’s quiet wisdom, I felt such resonance in your poem's contrast between the mind’s restless storytelling and the body’s grounded Truth.
For whenever I slow down and really tune in, it’s my body that reminds me where my real stories live ... steady, sacred and always, always waiting to be heard. Thanks so much for sharing. 🙏💖
There is a constant conflict between images: the straight and narrow obelisk and the arboreal tear that crooks and bends in pursuit of life's elements. No distance will be made between us. I'm stuck in its drain until I can train the noise to fall into alignment.
Yes, beneath the noise, the body remembers. We just have to listen. 🙏💖
Damn, son.