I wake to a symphony of birds singing and tweeting, so many sounds I could be in a jungle, and wonder why we question different sizes, colors, and shapes, when multiplicity comes together in unity.

Today I’m aware of my sacrum waving like a flag, a flag of integration.  My hand reaches up supported by feet and toes.

I now keep a chair handy so I can lie on the floor with my lower legs on the seat of the chair. I rest there, hang, release.

Today I’m with this poem by Pablo Neruda: Keeping Quiet.  I think of the little bird sitting on her nest outside my bedroom.  She is keeping quiet, is a keeper of quiet as she sits on her eggs, though sometimes she tweets.

Keeping Quiet

Now we will count to twelve

and we will all keep still

for once on the face of the earth,

let’s not speak in any language;

let’s stop for a second,

and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment

without rush, without engines;

we would all be together

in a sudden strangeness.

If we were not so single-minded

about keeping our lives moving,

and for once could do nothing,

perhaps a huge silence

might interrupt this sadness

of never understanding ourselves.

Perhaps the earth can teach us

as when everything seems dead

and later proves to be alive.

  • Pablo Neruda 

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