I am the Daughter of Troubled Sleep,
Hine-maki-moe.
Beauty surrounds me
as the cargo boat arches
as the waves swell.
as the waves swell.
I feel Te Kore-rawea,
the Delightful Void,
rock me to sleep -
rock me to sleep -
communicating
via heavenly stars
via heavenly stars
to talk me through the night.
My armed guardians
of the sky
of the sky
are on twinkle alert
to watch over me,
to watch over me,
from their high vantage point
they sound a caution to the winds,
and whisper encouragement to me
to keep my imagination alive.
I dream
that I dwell
within the empty Space
that I dwell
within the empty Space
that produces the atmosphere above us –
from the Nothing,
the amplification from the Nothing,
the abundance
and the power of increasing -
The Living Breath that dwells within,
my empty Space.
In the beginning there was Nothing,
Po, Te Kore –
Te Kore-tua-tahi the First Void
without light, heat or sound;
chaos without form or motion,
gradual vague stirrings
that began Within –
that began Within –
the Nothing of light
intercoursing with darks
producing heat and moisture.
An entanglment of relationships
within Te Kore-tua-rua, the Second Void,
and Te Kore-nui, the Vast Void,
That sounded substance and form.
Vibratory elements interacting
creating a swell of unpossessed thoughts –
from thought the remembrance;
from remembrance the consciousness,
the intention and desire.
Te Ao-marama, the Bright Day,
so resistant to leave,
smears the sky in a dance
smears the sky in a dance
with Te Po-terea, the Drifting Night,
who wants day brushed away.
Te Po, the Night,
hurries in to paint the sky
into evening shades
into evening shades
by dipping its brush
into the Wellness
into the Wellness
of Te Kore-roa, the Far-Extending Void.
Under the moon
the cold wind stiffens me
the cold wind stiffens me
as I lay on my back staring into Nothing.
I watch the starlight disappear
each time I pitch with the roll of the ship.
Te Po-teki , the Hanging Night appears.
The Moaning Night of Te Po-whamha
sounds me Wide, Awake.
I feel for my back,
pressured numb
from the wooden deck slats,
the form shipping my ribcage across the Ocean
the wooden bars of my cradle,
the wooden bars of my cradle,
when pressed against me checker
a labyrinth of patterns into my sleep.
I am Begat to Become,
a thought on a game board ready for play –
a feminine knight
contained within the opacity
contained within the opacity
and thickness of my own skin.
I am a watery sack
moving around the transformational field,
the swishing and sloshing
Begets me my transparency.
I become a remembrance,
a filament of the four directions
as elemental as earth, water, fire, air and ether
Within my sound Conception
into thinned skinned colour,
into lightness of being clear through -
Within my sound Conception
into thinned skinned colour,
into lightness of being clear through -
I am a focused beam of transmission,
designed to be transparent
Within, after birth, before death.
~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
In 1883 Gubran Khalil Gibran
was born in Ottoman Syria,
and he died in 1931 in New York City.
The period in between life and death he created
a book called The Prophet.
His sounds were published in 1923, he wrote them, they read;
“The sea that calls all things unto her calls me,
and I must embark. For, to stay,
though the hours burn in the night,
is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.
Fain that I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?
A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings.
Alone must it seek the ether.
And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.”
designed to be transparent
Within, after birth, before death.
~~ Other People's Fingerprints ~~
In 1883 Gubran Khalil Gibran
was born in Ottoman Syria,
and he died in 1931 in New York City.
The period in between life and death he created
a book called The Prophet.
His sounds were published in 1923, he wrote them, they read;
“The sea that calls all things unto her calls me,
and I must embark. For, to stay,
though the hours burn in the night,
is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.
Fain that I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?
A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings.
Alone must it seek the ether.
And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.”
Image Credit: Karin Lisa Atkinson "Self Portrait, Star Gazing, South Pacific"