It was a wee, small voice being ripped to shreds by the wind; being dragged under by a careless tide that pulled Kahlo into step number 785. The purity of it. Concentric circles swirling in rainbow colors, like cotton candy cocooning the child. From the middle, a feeble voice calling Kahlo’s name.
It didn’t take much to reach the babe. Just two languid steps. Precise and unhurried. One in an atmosphere beaucoup light years away; another on this quickly disappearing earth. The unslackened thirst of the flood waters swallowed everything and everyone whole. But this little whimsy of a child, with tubes still taped to its skin, tubes that had earlier undoubtedly connected it to some life-saving machine, had the presence of spirit to call for Kahlo. Ancestral memory has been known to save a people.
Kahlo raised the infant above the crescent of the next wave. As the waters crashed against them, crystallized images of every past and future life of the small one danced around them, in technicolor. The flood waters became a tarot spread, that showed Kahlo everything. Who the child was in this present moment; who the child had been before; and who the child would become was all revealed. Kahlo was humbled by it all.
“You are my mirror.” Kahlo whispered gently into its tiny ear. It had been 784 steps, and this was the first child of Dagara that Kahlo had ever met! Surely this was a sign. Kahlo could not wait to return home, to consult the water shrine. But that would take even more light years. By then, this foundling of the water would be an ancestral memory itself.
The baby was eventually found by community rescue workers. It lay on high ground; it was shriveled and tucked safely amongst windswept branches, leaves, rocks and other debris forming a sort of natural bunker. News reporters spoke of “Maria’s miracle child”. Everyone wondered who the baby was and where it had come from. It would be some time before all of that would be very publicly sorted out. Questions surrounding health care for the poor and vulnerable would be asked and addressed, and things would change. For Kahlo, to have had the chance to see oneSelf…one’s Soul…in the eyes of another outside of home, was the takeaway.
“To know for sure, that I am not alone in this vast space made up of yesterdays, todays and tomorrows.” Kahlo’s thoughts were meditations. They were the fodder that fueled the next step. Number 786.
unfitness to serve /
as the fog seeps slowly in /
unfähig zu dienen /
wie der Nebel langsam hineinfällt /
beware what you do /
when you carry the Tiki /
the First Ones on earth…
Vorsichst, was du tust /
wenn du das Tiki tragst /
die Ersten auf der Erde…
Source: wordpress haiku #94
full moon fits my head /
waist wrapped in venus’s belt /
i strut the night skies…
Vollmond passt mir den Kopf /
Taille in Venus Gürtel gewickelt /
Ich strecke den Nachthimmel…
Source: wordpress haiku #93
hate spreads without discretion…
choking our world.
Hass breitet sich ohne Diskretion aus…
erstickt unsere Welt.
by Mami Watu
three bows to Buddha
we submit to your wisdom
your Truths tried and true
Source: wordpress haiku #92