the human mind, a liquid consciousness
is much like the surface of this water.
the thoughts wash across the rippled surface,
creating waves of realization; mountainous dents;
patterns in thought; dancing triangles
of every hue and tint, sometimes curling
over into white-capped insanity.
OR ELSE
the wind settles and moves onward.
the waters of thought calm, the liquid
consciousness stills and becomes glass;
a mirror of the reality facing it.
your body, a broad stretch of
the varied perceivable growth:
an endless stretch of trees and bushes,
(every shade of green, and of course the leaves
that turn - all the reds, oranges, yellows
- before the trees let them go)
the rocks, (and their accompanying rough
character, complete with soft patches of pastel
or slime-green moss, poking up its soft fingers)
the clouds (small, soft blobs of mashed potato
spread across the deep blue plate of the sky)
...all this reflects, static, along the water horizon,
the mirror of our perception -- and deep down,
beyond the surface of our impressions of this liquid
life is a deep black unconscious depth.
down here, in the bottom of the murk
is this cool place where the fish go to hide
from the blinding rays of thought
(cast forth by the delirious, fiery sun,
dreampt up by these radical dreamers)
when we understand
that we can shoo the wind from our waters
that we can imitate glass, or shatter it
we can cast pebbles or stones of thoughts
into our imagination and produce these
metaphors that dance across the water,
drifting outward in parallel rings,
circular ideas that grow larger
and yet fainter, distant..
the horizon is rocky with sharp thoughts
in every shape, size, weight, and texture
what stirs your water is what you choose
to throw into it.
