Into View

Its the most obvious password in the world really. Either the way it is or reversed. Someone would discover it eventually. Which bag do I pack for this journey? How is it that each represents something--a style of travel to me which is crucial? One is soiled, black at the bottom, almost eating the complex angles and swirls of black and white radiating out, even as it hangs sun dried over the line. The other is heavy-duty, but forms well with walking a distance. Funny how one can take over the other and determine which tools I pack and I suppose how I pack them. Sometimes I find that it is nice to throw the curtains open. Mine are cranberry and embroidered, delicate and a reminder of a past, when elsewhere, and a present of these windows, this view. So I like to throw them open. This is the question: how is it that we lost Japhy? I mean I know how, I know because he would be the one to blindly cross the road, but also always watching, yelling "CLEAR!" for the rest of us. Always just on the edge. He was usually paying attention though wasn't he? His mode was no self-doubt in physical exchanges with gravitational space. The equation was wrong though that time. The timing was perfect for that accident. A second here, a second there. A moment somewhere and it wouldn't have happened! So I have been wondering what it meant that we lost Japhy? That's it on that. There is a rope. I see it and I climb up it, around it, its twisting. I think of the sounds. I think the intensity of that loss is still vibrating, its more even now, more melodic, we have healed a great deal, and we have found ways to walk meaningful paths. We have stayed interconnected. Thank goodness. Thank you. Ahhh yes, I remember now. When I was in Nepal, 8 years ago now, I got frostbite. Bad. I mean, not amputating my parts kind of thing. But, it hurt. And there were blisters. I believe this was part of a transformation for me, a suffering to open some kind of somethin'. But anyways. One night I was hurting badly from my hands burning and itching. It was extra cold and I think I was very tired from a long day of trekking. I got up to go to the bathroom, and I tripped hard on the rope holding up the potty tent. Somehow, I did not catch myself. I fell hard to the ground, belly flop. I lay there for a minute on the cold Himalayan earth, and there was not a cry in me. I knew I was the only one there to hear it and so I did not make a sound. Instead, I rolled over and looked at the immensity of the sky, I basked in a solitude, a sense of all "external" relations falling away. I feel that "aloneness" now. It scares me and I move to relate. A bit I do, but it is interesting, the relationship I am practicing on developing with the ants. Sometimess I flood them...sorry, storm, hold on boys! Sometimes, I let them live in the compost and scare them if they come out. Sometimes, I pick up dead ones by accident eeeeeewwwwwwwww! They are my relations for the most part. Let all else fade-away.