Life in Hypertext
Story of My Life
21 January 2000
So there is nothing more to do than write
the story of my life, beginning now. Yes, this is another
preface. Yes this is a departure from the now into the future becoming
more now every moment. Yet this will run out of detail to describe soon
and I must depart for the moment of my actual, physical birth
on earth some fifty years ago.
In the meantime, by way of everlasting
introduction, let me descend into the meaning of pre-face,
the face you have I have I am you as when we are born: our original
face, our original pain. Still locked in breath, tetany hands, bands
of steel around the belly, strange oozings in the crotch, where is my
father but in the trees, in the snow falling out of the sky to earth,
back to mother in the womb-shaped warm pool in the forest?
Woman with monkey face, man with stars
in his eyes, these my friends and I listen to the all-that-is in this
moment and every other as we are able, telling of the higher
self and the inner
child and the way forward back to the world.
With all that out of the way, I could
start now or later as the drum
plays, the sax squawks and croons, and the dark comes down to remind
me of supper to warm, a lover to welcome soon. This is all part of the
equation of enlightenment, you see: words too.
Music, breath, pain, word, boundaries
of skin and personality and name and childhood
history, what are our ambitions
collectively but to transcend, to go through, to descend, to go through,
come out breathing on the other side. This is birth, and there is
no returning but in this or the next moment, to come to the story.
So we continue, you and I, in a rhapsody
of inspiration, in clear-eyed grace, knowing there is a question and
an answer for it, in your eyes, your caring, your patient listening.
We all have a turn at this wheel.
That said, I have the floor awhile, for
you or others to come and go, open mikes
everywhere, same trepidation in the gut. Knees shaky, out of breath,
maybe it was the long
walk through the snowy woods deer-wise, coming to the steam rising
from the pool by the cobbed house in the clearing.
There is a culture
on the rise in our small circle, a ritual without more formal requirements
than breath and acceptance, willingness to go now to where we are. There
is a coming to know and say and follow the energy as it flows between
us, honoring the channel we offer and use to hear wisdom speaking. Sometimes
it is the voice of the child, sometimes monkey and sometimes star
man or spirit herself. There is a dawn and a dolphin fluid presence
in our slick skin and we emerge wide eyed into the clear white afternoon.
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