Layers of Life

At the cafe and native flutes drown out the morning buzz. That's a joy, drowning the buzz, watching the lesser vibration synch with the greater one. Sometimes, just to be a part of that is enough. Sometimes that's all I can do. Notice. Witness the movement behind all the movement.

Maple leaves in layers off branches, across the street, something to behold. I'll get a call, take out my headset, say hello, what are you doing?, nothing I say. But what I don't say is how long it takes to get to nothing, and how satisfying and crucial it is for my morning.

A man walks by, crevices across his face - deep rivers and a trail of years. I want to keep looking but I only have a half-second, social agreements and all, so I fill my rolling, open landscape with a glimpse. Now it's his smooth head, paper thin to the brain, so close, and up an inch in scope, maple leaves, layer upon layer.

I paint with color and fill with story to saturation. My aloneness with the one who witnesses, perfect company. Healing the morning disappointments, righting the flight path of my emotional stride.

It's raining more shades of green into the spring light. More flowering than I've ever seen before. Portland.

Every few minutes I wonder whether cells are dividing. We inseminated on Saturday and by Tuesday here, has it taken place? That I don't know is the strangest condition, like never being able to see your own back. How completely odd.

We know and may know, the potential is out of the reaches of our imagination, and yet, simultaneously, it's built in that we don't know, cannot be privy to the most essential information of life, moment to moment.

Right now, tables full of business men, students pouring over pages, cell phones waving, and I'm content to watch the leaves. One hundred percent full-moon.