Tears and blood, the intermingling of voices calling. Nuzzled down within the comfort warmth, Angel begins to speak in the language of birds she has always known and just now remembered. I can hear her as she speaks amongst herselves, jouyous in her discovery of sound. Her voice s overflow in waterfalls, water on rock and sand. A deep green earthiness of tone, ancient in form and flow.
Angels spills through our conciousness, layer on layer and none is left unaffected.
I am grateful to be asking the right questions, so that I get answers instead of more puzzles. I am standing before myselves the mirror of the wind abrupt, swirling stories fill me up until I overspill and visions of the longest nights are wiped clear from the mud that has settled, the sediment of my river filling it in. I feel powerless to feel my own toes much less hear the truth from out the lies. Words lost the the rush of river water filling me up with nonsensical nothing, the nothing of forgetting and of numbness it is easier to be numb and frozen than to roll with the spring thaw and fall into myselves more freely, I wish that I could see the faces of those I pass inthe night in my dreams falling through spiralling corridors of sleep and not sleep, the insides dance with life from top to bottom, but i am pretending so hard to forget the life that we are. I am falling all over myself to unfocus my eyesand disappear into the fear that is all frozen up and forgetting.