Fibonacci Sings

Walking across the kitchen to turn off a light
The hot water of a shower, wet hair, fingertips and the flow of motion
Not really one thing then another, not even a moment to be found
Just flow
And then no flow to be found, but moments, things again, seemingly
Shifting like this, until it just opens –

The space in the room amniotic, overhead lightning, mist of electricity enclouding, the music of Arvo Part conducting experience
Fine muscles in my wrist and hand, twisting a metal knob on the sink
The noise this knob makes in squeaks of sudden forgetting
Flowers of oblivion, a beautiful Spring bursting light green
With wafts of magnolia honey oxygen

All this unknown pregnancy of the present moment
Words as colorful mosaics on ancient walls of the mind
Pieced together around the outside of experience, not the hearth itself
More the memory of home echoing its own image
In the ceramics of play
Home itself opening continuously like leaves unswirling from branch tips
Flower petals carrying songs that circle back on themselves
Chants in hidden cathedrals

This moment keeps on deepening, speaking itself anew in sinew and brain as it falls into the heart
Into chambers of pumping blood, pulse, and all systems of mutual surrender
Until, meeting, they merge as essence and that darker dreamless mystery somehow shines
Whether from eyes nakedly seeing or seeingness itself melting into being
or beingness full of sight, each losing track of the other
Losing track of all my ideas
Starfish that I am, the ocean is always a mystery to me, whatever I call it

What is a hand?  What is air? What is light?  What is time? What is a body?  What is the present moment? Is it a noun or a verb, or both, or something else, or nothing else, or everything at once
Or the sharp smell of a fresh cut black locust in the woods
And the first ferns of Spring singing Fibonacci sequences to life itself
The present moment falls apart in such fragrance and living mathematical music
Harmony as ordinary as moss and water
With bright drips cascading in today’s waterfall

There’s some incredible delight in not knowing what it is anymore, if there’s even an “it” exactly to be named
Something suddenly vast
With unknown chasms calling an unknown beloved by name
That intimate worship between two mysteries
Opening suddenly, all the way down
Touching the core, the solar plexus of this ecosystemic embrace
As simple as driftwood, wonder sweet
As your eyes and smile, your grief, your bliss, your heartbeat, thoughts, hands, breath, nerve beginnings
Movement back and forth in spirals
Stillness that never stays still
Both music and silence.

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(2019 Ben Ross.  All Rights Reserved.)

 

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