7:39 AM At my desk, musilix done, and considering another cup of coffee...listening to Mercedes Sosa sing me into awake-enough.
Yesterday morning, I began the day by puzzling through a letter written in Portugese. Last night, I had a phone call from a friend in Brazil. This morning, I was reading the poetry of Octavio Paz at the bus stop. Prior to leaving the house and reading his verse, I had been sitting in the living room with God and a cup of coffee and finding my mind and heart going over the deep joy in my being at the tastes and textures of different languages.
In my imagination, I could see myself picking up words, looking through them at what lay beyond; draping them like shawls; offering them on raised hands--lifting them up; scooping them from puddles and pools, allowing them to wash over me and make me laugh and smile; drinking them from waterfalls, filling with the life their waters contain...allowing them to take my shape and feeling my own shape change and swell with liberation as they lived into my marrow and whispered their secret beauties.
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