(2) Sun Self
With my seeds I start to emulate the
Sun.
That star that garnered this Earth: I
wonder how to build a culture of me.
Patting the materials with my fingers,
I smooth the look of the land
pretending nothing. Then, pretending
there is no special seeds
awaiting blossom.
I always see the culture of my
birth-Mother.
I criticize the World she makes,
wondering if she knows to obey me.
Evolution depending, in my child mind,
on the beliefs of the child.
Those little seeds, struggling to
thrive, want more from the matrix
they find themselves in.
Refreshment in the form of Sun's
warmth,
that shelter that is the sky, the
community, the family, that is the singular self.
Singularity, taking in and sending out,
trying to define my rulership.
Narrowing in, I wonder how to take hold
in a scenario decidedly not
a reflection of self, yet received by
self.
Trying to see the path ahead,
negotiating with understanding,
often the hopeful dream: I strive
toward myself.
The seeds may still bloom.
The Sun Self waits.
from ~December 20, 2013
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