Out of the Bliss Info

Sink into
your lowest
carnal chakra.

Your hips
are the points
of a great anchor.

Affixed is your chain-link spine
and your mind, a buoy ever-rising.

Pull yourself up
onto a boat.  

You are barefoot, leaning
into the wind.

As you breath in,
the lake
rises.

As you breath out,
the lake
drains.  

Now let your breath go.
French kiss
the salt water air.

Wave goodbye to yourself. 
Let the waves take that boat

(with you on it)
away.

The water
is your past,

the sky is your future,
and you

exist only
where they meet

on the present
line of the horizon.

But a storm
blows, blurs

the spectrum
of blues

into indistinguishable grays.

Time is gone: infinity
is no longer

a concept
that you play with

but the place
where you play.

Out of the bliss
of nothingness,

gluttony (a spotlight of heat)
evaporates the lake
and banishes the water-laden

clouds. You age,
become an ancient,

dried-up
lake bed,
an alkaline desert circled
by a perimeter
of mountains,

and you become presently
aware

that the mountains
are watching you.

I scream at them,
ask them: Why?

Why are you staring at us?

I hear
a reply, but not
with my ears.

In the silence of my mind
the peaks speak:

“We are a wheel and you
are the fulcrum-strength
of our empty center;

we cannot move
unless you do.  Listen
to the color of your voice.”

GREEN.

My voice—like a child
neglected, hand raised—

has been
waiting. 

I finally call
on my green,
growing voice and it says:

“Rest,
you are too

conscious of your death,

trying to spend everything before
you pass, use everything before
it’s over.

Slow down.
You are exhausted, useless

from using so much.
Use less. Rest.”

So I lie down on the earth

as though I am lying
on my mother’s lap

then I realize I am
lying on my mother’s lap

and I can feel
the mountains

start to move.

Photos by Lina Nunez LinaNunez.com & Marc Evan binarystarsystem.com
Copy Editor Kate Fallon
Thanks To NYC Container Camp for Shipping the Installation

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