Heart Happy (cathy_edgett) wrote,
Heart Happy
cathy_edgett

Good Morning!

I am dreaming of bridges, a wonderfully symbolic gesture of transition and absorption. I also dream this morning that I am wearing a floppy rose-pink hat that flies off my head, and stops all traffic on both sides of the freeway. Everyone runs to look for it, and a party develops, and my hat is found. I then easily cross to where I am going. This bridge rises, so I can pass, and float across an inner sea. It all feels wonderfully symbolic, and so, I am still a bit with my dreams this morning.

I am also appreciating the extra time this morning before radiation. My appointment is at 9:45 today.  I feel peace in that, and I see now the sun is just hitting a part of the trunks of the redwood trees. It would be lovely to have some sun and blue skies today and the green of Ireland is lovely also.  Ah, now the sun is gone, but, that small tidbit of sunlight reminds me of this poem by Alberto Rios.


A Chance Witnessing of the Morning Animal

The mid-January day's morning
Light comes slowly, stretching itself

Before standing, arms first, hands next,
Fingers beyond that, nails even farther.

In this light, this bare stretch of light out of dark,
The sun catches with its sharp reaches

The top of the heights of the trees first,
The highest single leaves caught in slivers and crisp,

Sudden and barely as if they were a mouse
Each one, illuminated in the talons of a rising hawk,

Some white suddenly, and some red and some brown,
With a slight flutter of movement in the high breeze,

Each of the tops of these apricot and peach and pecan,
The tops of the desert plum in this far cold end of autumn,

Everything helpless in those first wild
Leafless few seconds of morning,

The light shining just across
The highest tips of the leaves, then into them,

Through them, into their suddenly disembodied twigs,
The bones of the leaves pierced with radiance, severed,

Floating in the barbed animal grasp of this momentary light,
Lifted up, almost, lifted up and apart from this world

Until not a second later the great tide of light
Finds in everything the beginnings of its vast shore -

And the first wave makes its crash,
A crash so great that sound cannot serve it.



This poem takes my breath away, massages, and yes, "a crash so great that sound cannot serve it."   This poem is a bridge.  I lie down as this bridge and all walk across me, little animals and insects and bugs.  They look around, and connect the sides of me I was not able to see without this crashing wave of light.
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