here we are in the middle of this space and place of possibility--working out the willingness to do and not do what can be done and not done in this undone of doable what? i am thinking of daniel goldstein's sculptures and the presence of absence he talks about and the surrounding halo of medicine bottles and lumped glass and string and the architectural element of the grate or gird or grid that allows all the places that hang down to hang down and i begin at this beginning to wonder what happens in the happening bits. what is this space and place of wonder? what is this hour of now? what is this courage? courageous? what is this real of real realing its reel of time--wound up in strings--casting into the endlessness of rivers not yet crossed--what can come of this? thisness? what can come of this place and way of waves? what can come of this coming? and going? what can be here in the now of this container that contains what? precious heart. pumping heart. bloody heart. inhale and exhale of breath. wider dream. worldfilled thing of things that thing themselves into being things that attempt what is human? is human any attempt at being it? is human the animal of itself? is human the component parts of itself? is there more compassion in a human once a pig's heart has replaced the broken pump of the human one? is there love? in this space? of trying? working? moving? dreaming? thinking into the feeling of something? love? wonder? life? intimidating life? feeling life? real life? reeling life? what is this place of thisness? what is this journey? what is this safety? what is this place? what is this courage? what is this courageousness? what is this hour of now unfolding across minutes and seconds of time in the mystery of what can not be mysterious in the something of spoken light. in the unspoken shadows, there is still a place to stock and store the dream. in the spoken light, there is exposure, visibility, seeing things that can be seen. is this the way of it, then? is this the here and now of it? is this the wilderness of what was wild? is this the thing? that things itself? onto? into? courage? i am here, now, where i have always been. i am here. in this here there is the wilderness and wondrousness of love. it is all and only love. but it doesn't always feel like it. the presence of absence...the absence of presence...the willing forgetfulness of what was once whatever it was that was what it was when it was what it was. here is the now of it. hearing itself speak up for itself in its own space of what lives. here. what lives here lives. ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, so that is it. what lives here lives.
this, too, is alive. still. in the now of this hour. in the space of this time.