presence / presentation

Image source: http://www.polyvore.com/ballet_dancer_silhouette_17_24h/thing?id=66665898
Image source: http://www.polyvore.com/ballet_dancer_silhouette_17_24h/thing?id=66665898

At times it becomes apparent to me,
that I occupy quite a lot of space.

I may start out of medium size,
with longish limbs and a short torso,
and a tendency to keep these wrapped up around each other.

But if you ask me to speak, to say, to perform,
then slowly, I begin to unfold,
one gesture at a time, into a circling kind of dance;
my range of movement evolving into one higher.

Slowly, I start to take up more space,
my limbs, stretching,
my hands, talking,
my posture, lengthening,
my eyes, brightening,
my voice, burgeoning.

I start to feel what I am saying,
I start to become those words.
I start to live these concepts I describe;
I see myself unfolding as a story told.

Tell me, when I unfold this way,
do you see me; do you feel my enhanced frame?

Does my size make you want to unfold too, to join me,
or do I make you want to shrink back into your space?

~

What kind of presence do you have, and how does that presence become enhanced when you are doing things you enjoy?

Do you ever feel that someone is “in your space”, or that you need more space in order to really be you?

Do you worry that your presence could unintentionally encroach on that of others, preventing them from fully expressing themselves?

taking in small sips all the time

Oil lamps. Image source: http://www.ishafoundation.org/blog/lifestyle/this-holiday-season-bring-an-oil-lamp-into-your-home/
Oil lamps. Image source: http://www.ishafoundation.org/blog/lifestyle/this-holiday-season-bring-an-oil-lamp-into-your-home/

~

This piece was inspired after attending a musical performance.

~

taking in small sips all the time

most days we trudge along, faces sunken,
the light behind our eyes, unlit

and then what comes along on the wings of a sweet melody
but the calling of something with which to cure our extinguishment

we strap ourselves in for the ride

what a thing it is to simply sit and be taken
to a place that exists only once in a while

~

fully saturated however,
we take up where we left off,
heavy and hardened, in pain

we were so close to becoming beautiful
but we surpassed ourselves in our glut

~

there can be a such thing as too much
heaven, too much light;
the flame rapidly fuelled is quick to die away

to stay free we must bend and turn,
dust off our delicate soul-wings,
and sleep;
eat only a little of the light,
and drink what has been given,
taking in small sips all the time.

 

no longer (2014)

who can say what should be done?

~

no longer can i breathe without running,
no longer can i eat before moving,
no longer can i speak before listening

no longer can i do
before asking,

what if,
what if all i am furthering
is irrelevance?

~

have you come here to sit,
or have you come to work hard,
so that you may make something
from nothing at all?

~

play without work
makes only a stomach ache

and love without change,
a costly, boring painting!

i care not for the pleasures
unless
you first give me of pain.

navroz (2014)

what is new about this day, navroz?

is it simply the flip of a sunny switch, or the overnight emergence of garden weed?

what do you want to be?
what do you want to change?

~

you have had the winter to yourself

now, prepare yourself to be grown

prepare yourself to be tamed, pruned
and tethered at the hands of another

prepare yourself to shift your roots
in accommodation of those that grow beside

it hurts, the pain of limiting yourself
though you know your own potential
to spread far and wide

but, if you shift your roots appropriately,
you will have set stage below ground for what will come to be above

what harmony you create in the hidden
is in every way what will come to be seen, outside

your choice to curb the tumorous growth of your self
is the reason for the interwoven canopy above

which is you (2014)

i walk the narrowest road toward you,
no less fine than a hair

if there is anywhere to fall
it is directly into the mist below,

which
is you.

 

the end of your rope
is always in sight

all i must do is stretch out my hand
and you send it my way.

your rope – a lifeline for one who drowns
when in fact there is no other sea

if there is anywhere to drown,
it is directly into the height, width, and depth,

which
is you.

tea steeped too long (2014)

tea steeped too long becomes bitter
fruit ripened too long makes waste

a candle impatiently pushes his covering out of the way to join his wick in union with sweet air,
only to drown in himself and die

~

i can never be worthy;
i can never thank you enough
i can never wholly appreciate the gifts you give

~

how can too much love engender hate?

 

when love is scarce, i breathe more deeply to take you in
when you give me some, my hands join in thanks of their own accord;
my spine strong, in harmony with you

 

but

when it doesn’t end,

when you are too kind to me,

 

i fall

 

into inertia, unmoving
my eyes vacant
my heart, inflexible

~

i hate me

this unbeautiful, ungrateful
child

 

i try not to go near you,
because you remind me of everything i am not,
everything i can never be

 

i don’t call your name
i don’t ask for your hand
i don’t journey to your house;
i lock myself in mine

 

if i move an inch i will bump into you
if i see a mirror, i need avert my gaze

 

i hate me when i am not like you;
this unbeautiful, ungrateful
child.