by | Jan 8, 2010

by Constance Casey 12-23-2009

Left side of the neck and throat area plays some intense rhythm,

strumming down the ear, in and around the tonsils

then deep base strings in the heart area,
clenching with grief,
sublime openness,
and tension releasing through vibrating sensations of pulling,


inner re-organization…of dreams — what sings this?

whatever – willing – being with

“selfing” brings along undoing, being with unknowing

each day brings less and less of any “me”

look inside and see scattered bones,
some cleaned out archaeological dig site long ago trampled and forgotten.

The trauma of selfing,
of building some-such-thing

is remembered deeply.

Unwinding this pattern tunes attention at every key moment,
singing chords of spine and vertebrae and marrow,
seeing the sun rise to melt any frozen limbs of innuendo.

Listen up! It’s open season on ideas.

Right in the center.

It has its own agenda,

“do not seek answers” is what Rilke said.

A tentacle arm softly unfolds,


It can’t help Its wise molecular muscles made for touch
and all along, feels and knows, and understands and sees through and through,

again and again,

with all the more clarity and gratitude

and no direction, friend.