I am glowing.
I am bright.
A spider crosses the room, pulsating with energy.
My body rises in the breeze like a feather.
The cold, hard stone of fear melts into lava
and the fire of imagination is lit.
Mahamati’s eyes are dancing, dancing with delight.
He is Mr Magorium and he is
dazzling me with his wonder emporium.
The birds in the blue sky are there and not there,
and today I walk the way of the white clouds,
half embodied, half hanging loose,
expanding like a hot air balloon,
slung into space.
My friend the spider winks at me, and says:
“there is nothing wrong with pleasure, Mr Scrooge
loosen the nails on your cross.”
Revolving around earth,
I look back at my old self,
who stands on brittle ground.
Up here there is no more strain,
only constellations of stars
and a breathing pulse.
In, out, over, under,
cyclic rhythms, repeated re-turns,
creating bonds between brothers
and a bridge over murky water,
where a white lotus blossoms.