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gap-blaze/water-speech

Words are pouring through me.  I think the closest to lucid dreaming was a chance experience of mine last night.  Words and more words.  No I'm not writing those words now...or am I?  They were subconscious thoughts welling up like a spring in my mind. Torrents of thoughts framed in words.  Of course I did read Yuknavitch, Lidia. The chronology of water: A memoir. Hawthorne Books, 2013. Yesterday in almost one sitting.

Powerful, powerful book.  I swirled my toes in the currents of a babbling brook in the hills above Fort Collins just off the "Summer Indian Trail" two days ago.  It was my little piece of heaven on earth experience.

Bound by time, to time, is something that I long to be free from.  The water cared not where it came or where it went.  It was water.  It might have been spring fed.  I don't know where else the water would be coming from...runoff water?

Gap-in the hills, sent a blaze through my being.  Tiered of the on-trail stuff,  I dared to step off-trail....blaze of thought and emotion too. Ranger near or far, this was my possession as much as anybody's.  Surely there was more down in-between that hill gap.  There was. A laughing brook of water.  Amazing.





My Moses-bush-gap-blaze...no fire though, a voice of water.  Bush all around.  Not a single smoking bush, but a trickling babbling stream falling over some rocks.  My heart jumped when I heard it's invitation. As far as gap-blaze...only conflagration of thoughts and feelings.   No lightening.  My socks shoes and more were off almost instantly, not because a voice told me either.  Sacred fire, fire in the belly.  Fire of being was the only conflagration...thank goodness.

Just a cool running of water.  Only the speech of water. If water even says a word, huh? Miraculous in it's own right, I suppose.  Molecules of me, of air, water, earth, "fire", mingled for an instance.  A laughing trickling message: I don't know where I come from really, or where I'm really going.  Do you?  Do any of us?
 
Life was all around me, and in me.  From the deep purple snap-dragon like petals to the velvety green moss which seemed to be the sub-strait of the flowers themselves.  Ferns were growing.  I don't know if this stream trickles through hot Colorado Summer, but small lush ferns there were over in a water-kissed nook.  An ecosystem in an ecosystem.  I should not have touched it, so I touched as lightly as possible.

I stepped on the bare smooth stones my bare feet feeling the ancient geological ages beneath my fleeting vitality.  Where do I fit?  Who I am?  Possibly these are unimportant questions.  I strain too much.  I don't just flow like water.  Maybe I do though in my own way.

I did just sit on my hunches the sun on my bare back.  The kid part was sparked with keen fascination of the water beetle swinging on it's pontoon legs atop the flowing water, every-once-in-a-while pushing up the small channel-pool, for some unknown reason, staying put in it's spot.  Nature and nurture embraced. I loosened the bonds of isolation to be present and one with a timeless presence whom some call Mother Nature.  She is curative at the deepest level. Harsh, gentle, unfathomable, touchable, austere, relevant. My worship part almost choked on praise.

I'd jackknife existence too haphazardly if I don't just be and flow. trickle.  Water-speech/gap-blaze.  I don't know what it all means.  Don't care either.  Blazes! cooled by trickling, laughing inspiration.

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