edge

    look how the trees assemble themselves
         in theatres of light
                 
  how murmurations twist and rise— 
            orchestral 

choral sounds ascend            
           in uncontainable thrust                 

mosaics—   from the darkened dust   
     ask us to the wordless well 

 discomfort can drink our tears, 
       what gives fear its name? what allows sadness its dignity from shame? 

 the world is waiting on us
       to surrender to our only job     

to sink into one another's arms 
     at the furthest edges of ourselves.

    

the theatre of breathing, living light.

‘to love is to awaken’

This started as an etch. It might still be that. I was at a Fontaines DC gig with my husband, Kev, in Manchester recently. It was great, Kneecap were in support. It felt important on a number of levels. Surrendering to the indulgence of it. Pure freedom being there together for 36 hours.

Music is part of the antidote to despair. A sort of opium in the air. There is an eternal song. A hunger.

I’ve been inspired by the conversations I hear. I enjoyed this podcast last week from the ever curious and incredibly insightful

Elise Loehnen

. Her guest, Francis Weller, speaks of the fears and attrition in life, how they bring us to the edges of our own ripening. I found it fascinating. And a tad reassuring.

Also, relistened to this brilliant conversation with the late Joanna Macy with

Krista Tippett

which I'd highly recommend for its wisdom and soothe on uncertainty. Below is a Rilke poem translated by Joanna. Also, perhaps, for the times we're in.

Let This Darkness Be a Bell Tower

by Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated by Joanna Macy

Quiet friend who has come so far,

feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.

Sonnets to Orpheus II, 29