dancing | idealisticrebel

gathering of the flowers

” A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!

And how will your night dances
Lose themselves. In mathematics?

Such pure leaps and spirals—-
Surely they travel

The world forever, I shall not entirely
Sit emptied of beauties, the gift

Of your small breath, the drenched grass
Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies.

Their flesh bears no relation.
Cold folds of ego, the calla,

And the tiger, embellishing itself——-
Spots, and a spread of hot petals.

The coments
Have such a space to cross,

Such coldness, forgetfulness
So your gestures flake off——

Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling
Through the black amnesias of heaven
Why am I given

These lamps, these planets
Falling like blessings, like flakes

Six-sided, white
On my eyes, my lips, my hair

Touching and melting/
Nowhere.
—–Sylvia Plath

I have always been a night person, night owl of the lyrics. My mind rushes with ideas, my eyes filled with the heavenly lights, the moon, stars, planets and the shooting stars. Alone with the Divine lights and my soul. I meditate, paint, read, and write. The night makes my heart free. Ah, and then the morning. Not my time to function. My body is heavy and my mind vague and fuzzy. I really love to awaken slowly with a stretch of limbs to open my heart and soul to the love that fills me. I am seldom understood. But what can I say, the night dances.

Comet dances in the night

“They flew up one spring day
just as the oaks were beginning to bloom,
green and yellow warblers, filling the tree
with music and bright darting movements.
The mother and girl stood outside
and marveled at the sight—–
the mother’s hand steadying her shoulder,
the child swayed backwards, closed her eyes,
opened her mouth, and swallowed the tree
like a spoonful of honey.
She tasted the sweet tasseling blossoms of oak,
felt the flickering wings,
the sway of the branches—-swallowed it whole,
then opened her eyes, and breathed it out again.

But the tree had infiltrated her body
like iron in earth or smoke in wind,
like salt in water she became infused
with its quickening brightness.
She grew old listening to music,
she opened her mouth, and let it run in
until it came out her feet and fingertips,
the flickering motions of color and song,
as bright as jewels.

You can see her in the garden bending over the beds;
suddenly she lifts her face and smiles
as if she is drinking up the sunlight;
she sways above the bean-rows and marigolds,
weaving webs of light with long hands;
or in the morning when she sets the kettle on the stove,
turning in her shuffling slippers,
she lifts the shawl above her head,
and does again the dance of wings and branches.”
———-Virginia Haiden