1/14/10 small- quiet

who can say.
magnolias are blooming
and there are cherry blossoms in sausalito.
it is only january.
it is only the beginning.

when i think of the friends i might
have in cambodia,
in cape town,
in cleveland,
i think,
oh, what a small world you live in karmen,
of yous
and youness
and you-alikes.
everything seemingly familiar,
everything safe.
pleasing she who is nervous
in a time meant for speed.

yes, i live in a small space.
and yet not at all, too.

mine is small like the world is.
a speck divided exponentially
into a million moving fragments.
small like a heartbeat,
life's divine counter, counting.
small like her eyes,
taking in all of me sweetly.
a whispered vastness,
and silent expanse.
everything,
and all of eternity,
hugged by four simple walls,
steeped in a universe of nothing,
save our ceaseless imagination.

yes.
small like that.

so much of this smallness that i have to remind myself,
although i do want to travel,
and visit shaded places and secret corners,
and peak beneath unturned rocks that serve as roads for locals,
i am exhausted (fulfilled) already.
here, where i am often used to things,
i am expanding.
the world from my window is different,
day in and day out.
the fog belt disrupts the scenery.
the fuschia painted blooms are opening,
and there are no bees to speak of.
the moons is full.
the moon is gone.

yes.
sometimes small is plenty.

still,
i lie.
i want to be bigger.
i want to stretch my self around a language.
i want to be an alien among aliens,
and rest the common among commoners.
i want my children to be citizens of everywhere,
and breeze through the imaginary bigness,
of a world bursting at it's seems,
like it was theirs for the having.
like it was theirs from the beginning.

and,
they will know this too.
that the hours we log as the dreamers of this dream,
are as much a gift as anything.
even as we curse our very nature,
and beg to wake up.


journal