everything/ brain of des moines

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I was always aware of a possible silence falling
like the cover of a tomb and engulfing me forever.

The silence overruns the room and I am afraid to hear
my heart beating; this danger coming from inside-
only a continual flow of words can push it aside,
if not control it.

Listen to chaos, waterfall, the Marne locks--
Beethoven, a river that carries rocks and trees,
the thunder rolling by.

--Louise Bourgeois

(::::::;;i found that bit on the blog lemonhound!::)

today, walking, we found andy goldsworthy's "three cairns" and i am in love although i did not have the camera so did not take this photo but stole it from a site:

a cairn is a memorial made of stones, a way to mark a place of significance.  as i mentioned, i am in love.  how can i do that?  

here' s another, stolen from somewhere:

story of something finn suddenly said

Finn said suddenly as we were eating lunch: I think when we're in Des Moines we're in a brain.  I said, Really?  What do you mean?  Finn said, Des Moines is in Iowa City's brain.  Iowa City is below Des Moines.  Really? (laughing) Actually it's in someone inside Iowa City's brain.  It's in Lauren's brain!  So where is Iowa City then?  It's in Des Moines' brain!



how to dance (kid's poem)

cry with your belly.
laugh with your legs.
blossom your arms.
jump with your ears. 
let your body be everything.
let the stars come in.


story of the dreams i've been having

one dream in which i am trying to get a job at ace hardware and it is not working out.  one dream in which my cat gives birth to many black and white kittens and i must protect them and they run all over, chaos.  one dream in which peter suddenly has to go to russia again. one dream in which mitt romney is at the coffee shop where we are and i sort of dumbfoundedly shake his hand but peter runs away, and mitt romney chases him trying to shake his hand.  no! no! 

beginning of renn's poem

how do our souls get in?
they fly past our brothers.
they come out of clouds. 
mystery is the kindness therein.
in this story a cloud gathers all of its arrows.
in this story a rock forms from a marigold,
a baby from a canoe.
in this story is his calm, the calm with which he came here,
as if he were a seedpod.
a circle without fear.

a line i love from frost:

Earth's the best place for love.

what i think

i am a human being i start at the top of the stairs and i weave down, weave space.  all of these things are happening to a human being.  my fingers have held shapes and everything i have held and been and even at times knowing love, changing and trying:::::::::::changing and trying::::::::::::::::; changing and trying and exploring::::::::::and then thinking and hoping ::::::::::::::out of love comes Earth

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rainbow over our house:

the boy who builds worlds:

some blue lanterns:

and since i did just get back from amherst i will leave with this emily dickinson poem:

#822

This Consciousness that is aware
 Of Neighbors and the Sun
Will be the one aware of Death
and that itself alone

Is traversing the interval
Experience between
And  most profound experiment
Appointed unto Men-

How adequate unto itself
Its properties shall be
Itself unto itself and none
Shall make discovery.

Adventure must unto itself
The Soul condemned to be--
Attached by a single Hound
Its own identity.