Hovering over the Golden Waves

I would like to write these lines like a hummingbird, hovering over a rapeseed field. Now, please don’t tell me you can’t see a bird flying over those Golden Waves. Because I’m not interested in what my picture of today would reflect of any kind of material reality. This is not about empirical truth. This is about deep longing and desire. My heart dares to speak out. Imagine you could “hover over” that Golden Flowersea, Ah!


My Heart is Thirsty. Moisting its tongue for sipping that Holy Wine, this Nectar you call Rapeseed-Honey. Nonsense, you say? There is no Honey in those yellow flowers. Ok, you get your point, but look: my lines here are dealing with some kind of deep longing. A desire to move on & stand still in the air, between Heaven&Earth. A desire to hang over reality, breathing in&out rhythmically. On the power of quivering wings.

My Hara-Heart is out for sipping&sucking that Golden Nectar. My writing would like to move towards extasy, but I keep the balance: my wings keep quivering and I continue this movement-without-movement, this doing-without-doing. Oh, Hovering Over the Real, between Heaven&Earth, as a messenger of an impossible connexion. Such is my deepest desire.