Inspired by" Hopper", my daily friend whose broken limb eventually fell off. I then watched as he gradually adjusted his body and life as a one legged bird able to fly, land, eat and defend himself from the mocking flock that pecked and perturbed. Hopper was my medicine and a great inspiration during that layer of extreme pain, illness, and disability, and continues to teach me with a smile about ability, adaptiblility, and beingness.
Tangled form free from thought,
most often the place where knots are dropped.
Simple straw, moldy mud, pink plastic, or laundry lint -
matrix knitted by the Choreography of Life towards a mighty mitt.
For some the hustle & bustle of city life.
For others solitude that cuts like a knife.
Anger, fear, disheveled despair,
love, grace, faint kindness still smelling of rose-water air.
Daily nests are what we are,
constantly transforming alongside the dance of stars.
No waiting needed as we receive
some holy egg, often shrouded in soon-to-be crackling mystery.
One day this egg was was a one-legged bird
who was gifted possibility no other way learned.
Another day the egg look like a ghost,
teaching how to feed life with the reluctancy of an ill-mannered host.
Many an egg land in our nests,
never-endingly received till the last of breath.
And so, if nests we are to be,
might as well get used to it and receive gratefully.
H. Shariatmadari January 1, 2016
On the Shelf