Perennial luminosity slips and dips under Absolute Darkness:
My mother is a puppeteer who takes particular pleasure in composing paradise called Springtime. The moons tug of tides tends to humor mothers come that quixotic springtime equinox. Growing up witness to the punctual pattern of spring senselessness cultivated a slew of hypothetical explanations: all possible, few probable. Perhaps deeply seeded within my mother is a ware wolf gardener. Yes, a ware wolf gardener, ballistic with anticipation come spring and blue in the face from holding her ware wolf breath through the winter months and come that equinox, BIG BANG BURST, lunar exorcism seizes that she-wolf, ressurecting fertility from sterility, and so it is that my mother is possessed by a garden spirit in the springtime. The Gardener!
The Spring Equinox positions my thoughts on a 23 degree tilted axis and I feel as if I have tip-toed alongside time: a star map mile corresponding engram imprints in memory. Hand in hand with time, I share a common perspective and testify to the highest milk wayward celestial court that I witness Time falls flat on its face and spill ahead of itself by exactly one hour on the day of the spring equinox, and the slip is repeated every year, an astonishing resistance to learning for a siamese twin of memory. Time tumbles: falling into the gap of its own untraversed future footsteps. Jutting herself one hour ahead of the rate at which she moves comes at a cost. Imagine an elliptical slip– time rebounds backwards suctioned into a loom stringing streaming memories of its past. Erroneous….spring equinox tickles time and unbeknownst to those who are moved by the moon, everything changes for that one day and if they were aware in their bodies they would see this is the truth more clearly than anyone else.
My mother lives for the fantastic distraction of Garden, creation and destruction meet once again, this spring, a feature directed by the dramatic theatrical force of fury, The Gardener in the flesh…needless to say, nursey trips and talks were daily in my youth. My mother loves perennial plants. I could point to any one perennial plant this very second that was in our garden and correctly categorize it as such. I had no idea until today that although I would be right, I am equally wrong, both and neither at once. Confused? Perennial is not a type of tree or bush or flower, perennial plants are a type floral and fauna that are forever. Better late blossom than no budding at all.
Past Was giving, Present be birth, Future will life, reverberate figure eight–
blossom inside finite infinity, cyclic escape.
is perennial present flowing head first into the tail end of its own trail.
Spring forward & Fall Back:
Transcendence resides within.
Takes One to know One.
Infinity attaches One with One:
a cross stitch in time and space,
the solution to a solution in ones own image.
twists in the flex and reflex of knowledge of self,
a double helix, centerfuge fusion coalesces
Spherical shade coils an uncut umbilical chord
connecting form and shadow, tangible never begins because intangible never ends,
Matter & shape harmonize sinuous conch shell vibrations,
craddleing waves greater than the sum of the two twinged strings,
Freedom rises and rings,
Songbirds of flying consciousness.
Each note drifting more abstract, distance is depth in a dunce cap
Chasing the expanding abyss is forever a means never an end.
~Exquisitely Existing is Internal Eternity.~
perennial |pəˈrenēəl| adjective -lasting or existing for a long or apparently infinite time; enduring : his perennial distrust of the media.
• (of a plant) living for several years : tarragon is perennial. Compare with annual , biennial .
• (esp. of a problem or difficult situation) continually occurring : perennial manifestations of urban crisis.
• [ attrib. ] (of a person) apparently permanently engaged in a specified role or way of life : he’s a perennial student.
• (of a stream or spring) flowing throughout the year.