Gentle Wind
Tiny spider, your bones appear so slight
that my barest breath near you comes
over you as a hurricane of terror.
The silk-taut line you tug and twist upon
is invisible to my eyes, merely a
suggestion of gossamer scaffold.
You may now cling so tightly, and I fear
you will fall instantly and be lost, or
my breath draws you so close and
you will grab my hair, burrow
down my skin, down my back, and be lost.
So we joust the air, my breath and you.
Your silent twitching music of a
one-cord harp bewitches my thoughts
in this momentary song of emotion:
I am suddenly in your place. I am
this little fellow, pendulous to life.
Dry tears touch my eyelids. I reflect.
The artist
blows upon the zephyr breeze of Being,
and hopes the coming rain
may not dissolve all.
(6/18/2009)
I wrote and first shared this poem in June of 2009. I remember somewhat the particular image I was exploring, an actual tiny spider perhaps two millimeters tall hanging from its silken line in front of me: so tiny and yet just "out there" in an immense and dangerous universe. I was sitting on the bus at the time I wrote it, playing with the words and ideas, but reflecting really on what it's like to be an artist, and what it's like for me to be a person who feels super vulnerable much of the time. Feeling sensitive, like my skin isn't even there, I sometimes feel like total raw nerve endings and viscera exposed to the world. All I can do, times like those, is hold on tight to something and hope some cruel reality doesn't all come crashing in.
And paradoxically, I really want to be "out there" in the immense universe, like the tiny spider. (Even though spiders creep many people out with their too many arms and legs and how they do tend to do weird things like bite you or try to get in your hair or crawl around your skin. I don't think I'm really like that, but I think ideas can feel that way, too! They also bite and make you feel uncomfortable.)
I appreciate the incredible blessing of knowing – and being reminded, when needed – there are other people in my life who understand at least some of what it can be like to be sensitive and/or artistic.
