What is it to truly be alive? Is it the moments between our birth and our death? Gazing through the yard at dusk I see the spidersilks upon the wind blowing to destinations unknown. Sunlight flickers. I see the future a few seconds from now, the silk lands in the grass, the unknown occupants have discovered a new world, where ever they came from.
Arms full of soft sleeping baby, eyes taking in lupins, cedars, buttercups and roses. The children have romped through the buttercups, frazzled and frumpled. Has being trampled in joy hurt the buttercups or enlightened them?
Settling into the evening the fire built is hot and purifying. Is the death of a tree when it is cut down? Or when it is burned and releases it's inner light? Either way the beauty of a tree is only in its nowness. The moments of leaf, stem, swaying trunk, burning endings, all now.
She breathes soft whispers against my breast. I wonder at the plastic tube up her nose. How I'd love for her to be free of it. I have promised to take it out one day. The fire warms her cheek, bright now on my face. I consider thoughts of cremation and wonder where my belief in miracles has dissapeared to. God hasn't been very forthright with answering my prayers. My faith falls like lilac buds after blooming.
Am I failing in some way? Like moths drwn inexorably towards the light - are we not similar? Courting death on a planetary scale. We humans do not value life itself- but only our own. Would you lay down your life to save the life of a shrimp? Me neither. Hell I'd boil it alive and eat it with Garlic butter. Is this wrong? Where is the human guidebook for proper sustainable living on organism earth? Is there a path somewhere within me that will reveal itself?
I'm here, my thoughts float freely, my mind melts into my heart's throbbing ache. If only any of these thoughts had a pointedness that would bring my Anaya back from the line she walks. Where is her mind, her spirit? What baby thoughts has she?
If anything, please let her feel the cocoon of love I weave around her. Please let her know the safety of my arms, the softness of my kiss.
These moments of melancholy love have meaning. Who knows where we will land.
Spidersilks on the breath of life.