I bet there are certain words waiting in caves inside of me—you know how I have all these caves, and some are filled with water and some are filled with bats and some are full of words, little secret and quiet words that sparkle better than any stars reflected on the water, and that’s some of the best shine. My words are treasures, especially the unmined ones, still connected to my stone walls. Some of my words are like geodes filled with watch parts and they tick and click gears, thrumming while they do their light spill. Don’t you know.
Inside my caves, there are mothers calling for their children, leaning out the cave door and throwing out their voices into the night of my body, because the mothers who are certain words can’t find their daughters who are also my words, and like so do the unconscious processes of my knowing enact their dramas inside me. Inside me, there are the tragedies of obstacles to understandings, for so many consciousnesses and voices live within, and they’re reaching out for each other, longing to make connections and grow insight during this carnival ride of my lifetime—sometimes the smallest misarrangement of moments can interrupt that connection of disparate knowledges that could have bred epiphany. Tragic. That’s why the women call for their babes between my bones.
But when the voices choir and harmonize, ringing their sweet shared song throughout my being—bless this body and all its breathing pores, bless these hands spilling letters and sentences from my fingertips, bless this tongue shaping spoken sounds—to be the unity of these voices together, singing into me their realizations and understandings, as I one by one pluck words, knit thoughts, share insights. Fulfilling the duty of this lifetime.
I contain a city and how could a city not speak its mind (mind being that invisible thread stitching togetherness). Sing out, civilization inside me, sing out, dynasties of ancient DNA that whisper their fragmented hints, let’s all grab hold of the moment’s reigns, share ideas and understand. Each of us contain such worlds. The answers to all questions live in our body’s caves and shoals. So much depends on arrangements and timing. Pluck words, spill truth, relieve the pressure a little more, and sway to the clicking of the clock gears in my geodes. Like so many hearts. Like a buzzing hive of realizers. Body spill, word stream, breath zephyr, carry us onward.