Mandela Meditation ... #5

06 August 2017 12:00 AM

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This was strange.  I looked at the middle of the Mandela, the nucleus, it looks like a cork board, and I saw an image of papers stuck on a cord board in a kitchen, and throwing a knife at these pieces of papers, whatever, paper was pierced, was the list to take from the board, but this was my mother's kitchen, and I'm in the backyard, with the red large plastic bat, climbing up the silver birch trees, the swing sets creaked, sheets were hung on the clothes line and they did flap in the wind, being in the garden, picking some beans from the vines, funny I see those vines, and not the tomato plants, these the compost pile, and the pipe fence I ran into once and got a black eye, for the second grade class picture, my mother read to me, when I was sick ear infections, went through all the OZ books, the Mandela lost color at one point, that was interesting like it was drained, the petals became members of a choir, people standing looking over each other's shoulders, they were on the second floor of the library, briefly the only lights that on, are the study lamps at certain sections of the long tables, I sit at one desk and open the manuscript binder, the pages are blank, and I take up the pen to begin to write, long sweeping ink strokes, and I don't write like that ... but I do here, the choir is waiting, the petals fall from the sky, white sky, or is it white petals it is like snow falling down, except it's flowers and I raise my hands up to catch them as they fall, and I'm holding a gold ball in the palms of my hands, it glows. Deep breathe in and deep breathe out...