Kabir Kadre
Kabir Kadre

If not poetry…

Kabir Kadre|1 year, 10 months ago

Skipping through the memories of the day, my mind flitting across the sound of the dishes being done in the kitchen, the distant freeway, windchimes winding their way through an open door rooms away and through the house to my ear, no priority presents itself, only poetry.

Dave offered a healthcare reference, the video from which, leaves me moments ago just asking, “How can we help?” The 80 minutes before that were spent with the community of the stoa exploring with Daniel the nature of the Dharma and how one may go about finding a sense of purpose. The latter dialogue left me chuckling more in appreciation of mind that takes in the world as if it were the matrix with an ability to reflect that experience as thought liquid in words.

Before that the day was filled with the introduction of our new friend and Care Partner, Vanessa to the field and flow of the days activities, intermittent throughout which I was able to spend some broad stretches of attention working towards the next coherent expression of the MettaCare inquiry and possibility in a systemic sense.

From the early morning where sleep was scarce to the entry of Patience and Vanessa, echoes of Mike and Uma in the background upon rising, to the bustle of LB’s misadventures of the flat tire on his morning bike ride, and Mike’s many motions of moving from the office to the storage unit, and plants, those activities central to me have been filled with an energetic bustle all around.

Somehow in the quiet of the evening, with just those sounds of atmosphere around, the energy still feels like a rushing river.

A full moon tomorrow beckons the inquiry of “what weirdness afoot?” There are whispers of visits from friends on the wind…

Like that skipping of mind through memories of moments before, now a present sense of stillness, witnessing the moment and the certainty of nothing but the fierce desire to remain awake and to respond simply and clearly with a perfect depth of penetration.

Few words come to aid the description of this moment. Only the preciousness of life, the sacred sensation of feeling some tingling in the balls of my feet and a recent discovery of some greater force of conscious contribution to the movement of my bowels. It’s the little joys we have, paralyzed here in our bodies or minds or hearts…

Each breath, the witnessing of such, a reminder that I have lived life a moment further into the endless complex of time and space. The dancing story of mind reflecting a perfect silly stillness filled with what would be beauty, but absent of any narration to make it so.

What is this that we live, if not poetry?

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God gets to know things, we just get to ask questions…