Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts
By Alyce Wilson
I spent yesterday with a host of old friends at, of all things, an Otakon meeting. I spent so much time laughing that I felt as if I couldn't laugh any more.
I've been smiling so much lately that it hurts.
It made me think of this poem I wrote a few years back.
The Yogi: Inside We Are Bliss
"Seven things of which you never get too much: bread offered in kindness, meat of lamb, cool water, soft garments, beautiful fragrance, a comfortable bed, and the view of everything that is beautiful." — Arab proverb
Soon,
or sooner, you'll walk
beneath globes of streetlight in
cerulean sky and see yes
too much Too much of the elegant
alder Too much of filtrous steam too
much
of gold and violet Too
much of sepia
leg muscle leaf light
too much crisp blue in the air
or ochre or lemon Too
much
shadow soft-grain
wood
filamental antennae amber hair
or sun
The
white light
fills your body. Inhale your tension and
release.
Filters
of steam exhaled breath
too large a circle of heat too much
cloudsong too much ginger
and lilac too much spearmint and
gingko leaf
Merge
more deeply into
"so hum." The light fills your stomach
radiates through your legs, your abdomen,
your chest, your arms, your head.
And
there will be halos of pines
and silky skin whooshes and succulent
sweetbreads and young oaks
too much of beauty surrounding your
gold cloud head. Until no longer can you
exist, and you must either
inhale all this light or suffer
nothing.
- circa 1999
Moral:
There's no such thing as laughing too much.
Copyright
1999-2003 by Alyce Wilson
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