Friday, January 23, 2015


Objects not of the eye, but of the mind: and you more spiritual by how much more you esteem them. I wanted to write about pigs and their acorns, but the nuts with their berets were too much of my eye. My students drew their haiku. More tangible the translations out of image into print. But it's what's not seen that forms the basis of this meditation. Blind spot was one punch-line. Dark intended heavy. Self-expression as accessory. A Brazilian cardinal sits on the planter, eating seeds. He's a handsome chitterer, red crown spilling to his throat. I see it pulse when he speaks. He flies off, and I hear doves, trade winds. My mind's blind spot a double metaphor; yesterday, I was all amygdala, today I check my anger with the clerk. It's all trivial, Norman says. The word hurts, but that's because I wear it like a coat. There's more enterprise in taking off.

--23 January 2015

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