Ritual

My understanding is that the only constant in this world is change.

The impermanence of my words and of my feelings shows this.

The style is often the same,

beginning with declaration and continuing through explanation.

I hardly write about anything different,

with symbols of change and trees.

Finding my speech in birds and fallen feathers.

Yet I seem to have a constant need

to repurpose my plumes into fletchings.

But then why is it so hard for me to let slip through my teeth?

The agony of transformation presses against the inside of my mouth with promises of growth.

Yet they feel so hollow

I find myself the next day in a most familiar place,

under the shade of large bruise red rocks

with the scent of juniper flying itself into my nostrils.

Pink Floyd’s Brain Damage humming across my ears, a modern honkyoku.

The desert sun spills comfort against my back,

hands of warmth and presence.

The way mothers have always tended to their children.

Different names exist for these actions,

hiking,

grounding,

meditating,

prayer.

Whatever the name,

these places and movements are incredibly important rituals to have.

When the rains of an ever shifting world begin to soak your feet to an unbearable degree.

Identify the umbrella of your surroundings,

a place to cower and dry yourself.

Stay for as long as you need,

wait out the drops outside until they no longer seem so large.

Absence of that water will teach you how to understand it.

So go

dance and love in these storms,

trusting always,

that your shelter is never too far away.