Rinse. Don’t Repeat.

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Rinse. Don’t Repeat.

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Rinse. Don’t Repeat.

Details: Friday, 05 May 2023; Written by Eve Moore

Rinse. Don’t Repeat.

The prelude to this powerful alignment

in the heavens, full moon eclipse in

watery Scorpio, has been a week

of deluging rains falling on the

east coast of what is known

as US — however at odds

the unity of these states

of habitation may be.

Downpours whose timpani

registered in the biblical

scale of percussion,

proportion,

at times.

Days of pouring.

Brief interludes of

swiftly moving clouds

gathering — sundering —

like so many of us, whether

in form or spirit.

It feels so very right

even as it seems

so intense, so

strange, so

portentous.

Those who seem attuned to

the frequency of the torrents

hold their knowing behind

sparkling eyes. Others

seem distressed by

such long-lived

gushing.

A streaming

taking place in the

deepest layers

of our soil.

Shedding tears

we forgot how to cry,

grief held so long it calcified

— stalactites reaching

for stalagmites in a

long left grotto.

Our roots drinking

as never before,

their thirst slaked

as readily as their

berths are

unsettled.

Disturbed.

Loosed.

Sticks and stones break

our bones and names

can and do hurt us.

But they cannot

reach us, not

here.

As so much wisdom

has advised of

these days:

do not

look

back.

For there is

nowhere

we are

able

to be

now.

It is being

cleared.

Washed away,

this old settled

ground on which

we’ve stood

so firm.

Believing

we did

stand

firm.

Earth knows

otherwise.

Teaching her

moving ways on

winds, quakes, funnels,

slides — acts of god,

not a chalkboard

in sight.

We've resisted

the lessons again and

again in our modern mood,

manner, pouring our cement,

girding place permanent,

as owned, as mine.

Not yours.

Not ours.

An entrenchment

slipping away

like so

much

mud.

Emerson is here:

“People wish to be

settled; only as far as

they are unsettled is

there any hope

for them.”

Yes. Not an

easy ask in a

poured world

that disdains

pouring.

Still, all we see

as the living world,

even as we see solid

rock, stock-still ranges,

is shot through with

movement, energy.

Just ask the

flowering.

The teeming

greening that

no amount

of concrete

can keep

down.

There is no

inanimate bone

in the earth

body.

Nor any

body moving

upon and

within

her.

As below so

above, celestial

bodies’ orbits blocking

then beaming the fires

in the belly of our

milky way.

Holding,

bearing

so much

life.

Our nomadic

souls know

this.

Know

how to

let go.

To let

flow.

It’s time

we followed

their lead

and no

other.

Look:

the path of

least resistance

rises to meet us.

Shimmering.

All we

have to do

is step

up.

∞/∞

Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well.

For more of Eve Moore's amazing and heart centered poetry and writings, click here!
http://www.crystalwind.ca/eve-moore

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix

This poem/prose was submitted exclusively to CrystalWind.ca by Eve Moore.

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