Wheel

turning in the river flow, a vague metaphor for the day, maybe for the trip...the wheel of changes from my tarot cards maybe; or maybe, simply, a realisation of change...and of unrestrained musings...

A shaky start to the day, woken by a warning nightmare to find myself on the porch in the freezing mists of the morning; huts and trees emerging through focusing eyes, the dawning day upon me...

And it forms a day of thought, of sudden distances; the hours trailing backwards into themselves. And there's a new scent upon the wind, a sense of an ending, the wheel almost turned full circle upon this return. And maybe also of the phases of the moon; solstice gone the next full moon another journey, everything in its time, the ten thousand things changing as they must...and the horizon remains, whispering with siren song, an unheard rhythm upon the borderlands of imagination...

And maybe it's a Christmas meme but I think upon friendships and ghosts: and here, where memory wields a sharpened knife, maybe some scars twitch...there's always a price to pay for beauty, for the possibility that today is never just another day but a cauldron where the potions of dreams are brewed: beneath the cassia tree we imagine eternity...and maybe in a certain light, in these soft places, other borders may crumble...but I think upon my significant others with that continuing gratitude for the freedoms that they allow, for wisdoms and insight and with the unbridled joy of each return and renewal of those faces and voices which allow this improbable me to exist...

And mere distances we can traverse; time and possibility converging...the ongoing dream, the unwinding thread between points on a map which bind us in unexpected friendships...the echo of voices which have guided and offered sanctuary over the years...and no less those who have been lost upon the way; someday, maybe, all paths have the possibility of converging once again...it's a long road we wander and in the unmappable future who knows which echoes we find: and if we retain those ragged flags and dreams then maybe everything is possible...

And, as ever, later on the porch we echo that miraculous cauldron which was varanasi, sing songs for the others and then there are six; 3 Chinese, 2 Korean and me...and rudolph the red nosed reindeer in Korean sounds out and, once again, here in a distant place, the concept of borders appears ridiculous; mixed cultures and imprecise communication certainly but there's only unification under the guiding light of rudolphs nose...

And so Christmas in pai passes...