This is My HeartThis is my heart. It is a good heart. Bones and a membrane of mist and fire are the woven cover. When we make love in the flower world my heart is close enough to sing to yours in a language that has no use for clumsy human words. My head is a good head, but it is a hard head and it whirs inside with a swarm of worries. What is the source of this singing, it asks and if there is a source why can't I see it right here, right now as real as these hands hammering the world together with nails and sinew? This is my soul. It is a good soul. It tells me, "come here forgetful one." And we sit together with a lilt of small winds who rattle the scrub oak. We cook a little something to eat: a rabbit, some sofkey then a sip of something sweet for memory. This is my song. It is a good song. It walked forever the border of fire and water climbed ribs of desire to my lips to sing to you. Its new wings quiver with vulnerability. Come lie next to me, says my heart. Put your head here. It is a good thing, says my soul. ~ Joy Harjo ~I felt so touched when I read this--I wish I had written it, because it so clearly (metaphorically) put into words what I feel in relationship to the God of my understanding... Wren
__________________
"Never argue with an idiot... They'll drag you down to their level and beat you with experience..."
