this morning i saw an article about an artist who is working on emotional maps of cities. an experimental cartography. immediately the thought came that if steve were alive i would share this with him. he would love this. gently reminded myself that he is alive, that he is everywhere, that i can share it with him. this is what i choose to believe. this is the best i can do with what i know of what is, though i understand the small mechanism of me is capable of only a glimmer toward comprehension of the vastness of whatever "is" is.
a snippet comes. mostly i see his knee and his elbow. he is wearing jeans. smiling. for a moment his face, laughing. he's part of a circle. my dead friends.
in the moment i can see i have just finished saying something to him about my perception that he has grown more peaceful with his death. in the moment i can see he has just finished laughing at this and i can see his knee, in jeans, his elbow. i feel others but cannot see them in this sense-moment, though i know we were all speaking together a moment before. this one moment is the only one i can find.
in the now-sense-moment the sky is periwinkle. the redwood is dancing softly in the quiet breeze. the birds are singing up a glorious ruckus. not yet 9am and all the windows are open. i am at my desk in gingham panties and sleep-rumpled hair, holding a moment of dream, smiling softly and telling this to you.
i tried to find the article that began this train of thought so i could share it with you, but it is not where i was and searching did not turn it up. that moment is that moment and this moment is now.