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These boots move and encircle me Like an old friend The sole is soft and pliable I drink the earth through my feet She curls and curdles in pools of ether In my being Nourishing me. I walk among giants, And the clatter of my thoughts Clash against the intent To stay present in my body, Like an animal merely Going about its business Seeking this next moment and the next While in this one. No thought, merely feeling, I walk, I walk. These boots encircle me Like an old friend The feel is warm and billowy Island is everywhere It is a place to walk and drink I can't do this in the city Sometimes people ask me how I'm doing And sometimes I decide to say How I really am What I'm really up to They didn't realize when they asked the question That they didn't necessarily pick theirs Who invented these gateways to conversation? Why do we need passwords? Do we need to be an insider to initiate intimacy Safety seems to dictate that we do. But why does it take us so long to question The habit patterns of conversation and interaction? I drink her through these boots Through these pliable soles But I find that my own is not so soft I breathe her in and I exhale thoughts Draining down from my head Through my feet First I must reel them in like fish So that I do not lose pieces of myself To random inquiries of the Universe. Hope is a rope that lifts me out of my hopelessness It offers me a deal I can't refuse It is the most addictive drug there is. Surrendering hope is a skill Which I wish to master For until I have explored the realms Of my hopelessness with my consciousness I cannot hope to heal and feel and deal With the parts of me that are not vibrating That are not alive. That have no hope. In the old days I did not need boots To feel the earth. I walked with my bare skin And was literally one, My essence with hers And we were connected, always. She is teaching me how to live By surrendering hope. If there are splits in me And there are, as in everyone I must find consensus In order to heal the splits And know which direction we are going Some of my parts were not able To begin the race They were left at the starting line While others of my parts took off Like so many hares. The race will be won by running slowly And as a group, a troupe. But not as chickens running to escape the coop. Soft boot Surrounds my sole And keeps me warm For now copyright 1997-2002 Panjoyah |