It feels like a gift and a trial to be here. I don't want to sit nice and quiet through one minute. Every scar adorns me. Every laugh lights me. I want to tumble finally into the otherworld with my hair all messed up and my soul filled with fabulous song.
This doesn't mean that I rave all over the planet, or even the neighbourhood. It may mean I sit in one place for a long, hushed time. Going as far down as possible into being. Feeling every breath like a hurricane.
And when they ask me of heaven, and why I want to involve myself in this illusion, this fallen world, (depending on your religion) when I could be focussing on the sacred promise to come, I will say to them that digging in the soil lifts you closer to the sky ... touching the heart draws you beyond ... and the more I experience this life the more its covers slip away like dead leaves, and I see all the fakery, and I see all the certainties, and I hear the faery song.
If I was calm, I would not traipse through nights listening to a low murmur of taniwha, watching a dance of stars that should not be moving, feeling the invisible beauty all around me, and I would be forced to believe - to have faith, sitting calmly in my well-cleaned living room or in my lotus pose - rather than going knee-deep, heart-deep, experiencing (without any need for naming) amongst the wild magical things that are rooted beyond the edge of the world.
(Some of today's photos were processed with Kim Klassen textures)