Flow-State of Being

Neanderthal bone flute of Divje Babe

So – where are we? Here we are, in a flow-state of constant becoming. Out of the messiness, the humanness, of us,

(dissonance and harmony, distortions and clarities, visions and nightmares). We are these self-contained xenomorphs,

somewhat strange to ourselves, somewhat a mystery to others, but nonetheless learning who and what we are.

We really are in a state of flow between then and now, between now and when. We make of our art a day, and our day an art.

We write scripts for how we work and play, playing while we work; not to box ourselves in, but to set us free from wandering

around with nowhere to be at any time. We come into a space and make ourselves at home in these houses of skin and

bone, as if we belonged there, which we do, because that house was made for you.

There you curate your business – the very thing you are doing now – and listen to the deepest voice of things for instructions

(who will oftener say: make a choice and trust it). Then we practice stillness and trusting in the doing, unlike the one who is

constantly anxious that something could go wrong. We aren’t forcing a thing, but allowing energy to move through us.

Then, thus sifted and sorted, filtered and lengthened, we find ourselves opening out like petals onto pages and find we are

flowing in stages, and we dance ourselves into being.

the rules for mules

the mules aren’t there

they’ve been put up

I don’t know the rules for this

oddly, I’m a little disappointed

they’re a fixture of my morning

picture of peace

when I was a child in the toy drawer

there was this picture

yellowing shellac over a cheap print on a

biased cut slab of cheap wood

mare and colt in the pasture

and even then I thought it was peace

and comfort and everything was going to be

okay

of all the things in that boyhood drawer

this is what I still have

I don’t know where it is right now, though

and don’t care because

there’s the mules, may they safely graze forever

an enduring link to a child’s dream

that often did not come true

and they’re not there this morning

they’re put up

I don’t know the rules for this.