"The Summer of No-More-Forgetting"
a poem for anyone and everyone on an art path (creative, martial, yogic)
Some mornings the decision is not yours. Your body's wisdom itself insists that you get up. 'Place your feet on the path,' it says. Place your feet on the mat. Hook your spine to the sun; allow it to guide you all...day...long. This is why the Old Ones bent low and harvested in the gardens before dawn. This is why the Old Ones, even past one hundred, stood erect like sentinel pines, their spines aligned with the Noon-Day Sun. This is why shoeless poets wandered over the spine of mountains. This is why when the sun fell below the horizon the Old Ones closed their doors and turned toward The Inner Sun. When the world becomes lit up from inside itself, it changes everything. Balance is restored. Old armor falls off. Joy flows back in. No crutches needed. Then, sitting becomes travel. Sleep becomes healing. Dreaming ceases to be a shock absorber and returns to the ancient form of study that it always was. When the world becomes lit up from inside itself, everything becomes a form of worship. When the world becomes lit up from inside itself, everything becomes art again.
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