Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Mist
Dense fog today. The world is impenetrable. Nothing but the whiteness of cloud. Breathe the cool moisture; walk blindly forward. The ground remains; the route is the same. Follow your feet, knowing the way. If, according to the Hopi, there are two kinds of time, what is unmanifest and what is manifest, then we are inbetween. The world that is coming to be in its ecstasy is not yet born. The fog carries us through. Float on the breath of the mist.
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Oh, I like this little "Mist" essay very much, my Friend. We have been having mild misted and overcast days here as well. Poldark days, I like to call them. Magical, indeed~~
ReplyDeleteYes~~days of inbetween
Many Blessings, my Friend~~
beautiful, brenda.
ReplyDeleteI think you hit it. The first line was true but I wanted to expound, and then you mostly did. The world is impenetrable, especially to those who think they are separate from it. But the mist doesn't obscure things from us so much as it enfolds us in itself, makes us feel tangibly one with it. We are carried; we float. We need not fear the blindness. It is good of us to close our eyes and follow our souls, our intuitions.
ReplyDeleteLaurieglynn, I've missed you! Thank you so much for your gracious comment on this magical Poldark day...
ReplyDeleteBeautiful Sky, thanks...
Boureemusique, I like that, that the mist doesn't separate us so much as enfold us...