on frequencies

 ” I had a daughter but I gave her away”

We walk comfortably down the dusty halls of the visual arts wing, headed to ceramics.

Her white , heavily whiskered mouth and sagging chin unapologetically both exist and repeat the words.

’52 years ago. I was trying to be straight. He was a native’. 

Our stride is paced to match, acquaintances through weeks of wheel- throwing and conversation, though the topics have been in the solid foundation of clay-based type until now. I turn my calm face toward her, both letting the words flow through my ears and inviting her to take up the space at once. Seeing her grey eyes behind thick, outdated, now hip once more bi-focal clear-framed lenses.

The disposition of a woman who has lived 76 years inside of this ever-changing, speeding-toward geriatric human form. I see the prejudice she has built a thick skin against. I see it in her proud chest, in her unabashed gait, and in the way she speaks with the disarming yet peaceful way of nothing left to lose.

“I understand,” I chime in . Not really, do I? I stay in it. 

The radio signals emit frequencies whether we listen or not. The fine tuning of our intake can have the effect of filtering out much more than we intend

I’m chewing through an idea about limits. The limits inside of the ego can be so comfortable that one may not know they are inside of a room at all. I suppose a parcel to take from this is to remain clear eyed and soak up this world like it’s giving the last drops of olive oil on a fresh piece of good bread. Create the space for channels and they might flood in like a motherfucker. It’s  a pretty beautiful place out here.

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