Back to the whirling dervish

Childlike understanding of ease

Sitting by the fire, sipping our favorite morning elixir — sharing stories of roads past traveled encounters, recalling moments of joy and disappointments — subtleties out on the open winds, carried tunes of fathered and weathered myriad of occasional hit and miss targets bullseye of the accord.

What did you do last night? Were you alone? Did you feel lonely?

Quite the contrary! While you are out getting fancy like that and the eldest tearing up the town, universal influence brought me to the space of deeper understanding, contemplation yet again of the many back roads leading to this place in time. The biggest decision was to order a favorite pie from the locals — filled with meat or vegetarian delight — chosen combo frigid as a cardboard cutout, with very little nutritional value but memories of childhood late nights spinning dervish and singing to heart’s content — left baking a frozen pizza.

Like a movie projector, flashing upon a screen — whole life’s scenic misunderstandings presenting new translated light-giving thought to shortcomings — as if I had any choice at all. Deeper into the sliced reality between the sausage, onions, and mushrooms, create a perfect storm of mouth-watering favor-filled ambiance and salivary glands exploding.

Portioning into the night before, like our favorite slice of time lost somewhere between that moment on the shores of Lake Michigan — father putting a stop to my fantasizing of a world — golden rays of sunshine — to the arrival of self-actualizing persona — coming into my own. Forgetting and remembering everything — past, present, future giving hope — grace-filled knowing into songs birthing and vibratory mix among the collective whole.

Back to the whirling dervish, childlike understanding of ease — into the void, traveled daily, common practice of sitting with life’s painful memories — self, random and isolated bodies foretold onto the psychosomatic response to histories wounds opening flesh-bound scars mnemonic — holding long enough, deciphering codes.

Fusing past and present — greasy three-eyelet leathered originals or slip-on for comforts toting supported Orson plain toe loafers — the go-to no matter the occasion. Pause — entered sacred space of dance and song — Sombarai taking a soul-filled journey, sharing in gratitude for all — leading to this point in time.

Ladders rung, climbing coming to an end — reaching topside of paradoxical, whimsical heart-song accentuating momentary movements — feeding on mana’s favored dish. Filled, energetic beings arrive — fleeting self-conflicting storytelling once told by ancestors circled fireside chats.

Tossing the favorites — a pair of shoes once worn at all occasions — returning to the grounding, earthen effects — barefoot stepping while kissing great mother with every step. Footprints — sans carbon-filled accounting — leaving trails for the others to follow, inviting trailblazers to take life in their hands.

Remaining vulnerable furthermore barefoot — the preferred method of travel, re-writing past and future endeavors, creating — more accurately accepting present tense happenstance — all-encompassing knowing rather than a self-loathing disease of what was before.

~ Ani Po

Much gratitude to Christine Graves for her recent prompts in Promptly Written, Ravyne Hawke for holding sacred space in her publishing house, Diana C. for bringing the family back to fireside chats, telling tales of traveled shadow-works and sacred song and to the whole editing team on Know Thyself Heal Thyself.

I often put headphones on, tuning out the world — entering a world of collective thought or merely made up thinking, carried throughout the week. Here is the song, on repeat, during this creation. May explain the feels and chills that may or may not come through the words shared on the page.

Much gratitude for those who take time to read, ponder, and allow the inner workings of self to come forward. Grateful for the feedback, love shared, and more importantly, the Dance with Inspiration. Deep Peace.

Joseph Lieungh