Writing is a process of mining layers of dreaming and intuition, and then offering it to the world’s voice in thrusts of courage.
I hear voice in all things. When I intuit sentience in animals I hear the animal’s voice, its connection to others of its species, its family unit, and its interdependence with its environment. I feel the complex interactions, the richness, of the animal’s life.
So on the Thanksgiving weekend, the voices of taste, writing, family, service, freedom, history, Earth and Spirit self-excavated. Simple bits of gratitude for some of life’s voices.
Herbaceous hand of moss and peat in French press,
a sweet column of Sumatran steam infiltrates senses
40 parallels away
Long enough listened, fear, shame, grief, remorse, repentance, re-commitment
no longer the sharp elbow to whispers of silence, reflection, empathy, comfort, truth, divinity, awe,
the voice of vertical self-purification, empowerment
8 mm low-octave joy
manning the blinding light bar on a 1957 Christmas morning,
impervious to sleepy eyes
Breath of Presidio officers past,
steeled in Golden Gate,
incarnate in eucalyptus
The tenderest spot of sacrifice,
historical, contemporary service emancipates our chained hands, hearts
restlessly underlies colorless purpose
Argued self-governance in perpetuity
Families of variety, integrity, diversity, equality
“With malice toward none, with charity for all”
Filtered sunlight politely suspended
over an archical band of redwood salal,
a massive red and yellow slug an emblem of scale of its environment
in my presence,
as my father transitioned
Use your voice.