searching rest in movement, I waste myself, afloat
carrying and being carried forceful, yielding
a soluble state of being
availability of moving and being moved
letting go carried away
bent by what escapes me
inhabiting contradictory forces, I find myself in between.
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In the Chameleon Zone The journey has begun, the journey into exploration of my new poetic self – Louise the chameleon. I wish to taste, feel and monitor every single vibration in my new leaning habitat where my four legs will be listing, dancing and shivering of pure expectation joy.
THE PAST LIPS ARE NOT DECEASED Why not look at the beauty your memory holds, so nourishing that light can be. The past’s lips are not deceased. Let them comfort you if they can. – Kabir (c.1440 – 1518)