On this slow-moving morning,only a bright Cardinalon a pile of dead Elm branchesseems alive. The only color.
Clouds slow to a standstill.Dreary gray covers the land.Approaching rain crawls toward melike a bloated caterpillar.
I finally give up readingto play Mahler's Symphony # 2.Maybe it is a day for resurrection.But first the pain:
Oh little red rose! Man lies in greatest need! Man lies in greatest pain! How I would rather be in heaven.
The broken limbs – discarded,clumped together, deterioratingafter the violence – the disease,the fall, and finally, the saw.
But see the Red Bird sittingon this cemetery, made sanctuary.His brightness. His motion. His song.My only mirror this dismal day.
What was created Must perish; What perished, rise again! Cease from trembling! Prepare yourself to live!
If I am awake, I must knowthe possibility of sleep –the seductive comfort tempts meto curl into myself.
Let ambition go – accomplishmentor even responsibility –why can't I wither and dielike an ill-timed Jonquil in March?
Is living too hard? Must I always bein motion? Why fear dormancy?Prepare, in the slow time, prepareto live – to move, to sing.
With wings which I have won for myself, In love's fierce striving, I shall soar upwards To the light which no eye has penetrated!
It is more than grace I needto respond to life – to answer Yeswith the ferociousness of a starburning a dark sky. Burn.
Win for yourself the soul's journey.Merge with light. Soar with Mahler.Praise the Red Bird. Bless broken limbs.Bless pain. Pray silence.
Strive, scavenge, beg or borrowbut always repay. Repay with life –such as it is, as it may become.This is the homily the Red Bird sings.
Sing yourself survival. Don't be afraidto sit alone watching sky dragand drip – let sky move through you;let sky color your wings.