Is it a soul or just the sense of a soul
that is held in this burning vessel?
“Was the shape we see in our lives
there from the beginning?”
Or is it all just carried along by pretty horses and señoritas?
Is it all just fiction fiction fiction?
I guess I´d prefer it was,
written in the sky where the condor flys
protecting us as we walk through the cloud,
over the sierra, into the valley,
following the sendero into forests,
where we find the power of an ancient god,
that gave life to the trees through carbon and fire.
And am I the fire or am I the carbon?
Or are they the same? are we the same
are we the same are we the same?
Walking the road together into a blood red sun,
clouded by smoke that belches forth from the core of the earth.
Wearing ponchos and eating heladitos,
thinking how strange, and how beautiful.
Thinking about the connectedness of all things,
and if we can see it.
And if it is the rotation of the planet underneath the feet
that causes life to circle back around?
Spinning spinning spinning,
following orbital patterns after a fashion of time.
Then the blowing dust interrupts our thoughts.
The wind howls like a wolf,
the only catalyst for change, where the days remain the same.
Darkness and light here, locked in stalemate
wrestling for our hearts.
Wrestling en la frontera de estrellas….
Under their blanket we gaze
upon their light and their truth.
Under their blanket we find our souls,
breathing in and breathing out
breathing in breathing out,