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2. THE GRACES
"Blind is the life-giving breath
Blind is matter born of dust
Blind is Little Spirit—
All in the grip of Attraction.
By the time the world spun into seasons
Little Spirit—the agent between
The life-giving breath and flesh—
Grew impatient:
Was it coming or going?
Busy doing what?
Attraction
Mistress of Change
Raised a finger stirred the air
And in the electrified atmosphere
Five graces appeared on the scene
One after the other
Offering Little Spirit assistance
It could not refuse—
To this day
Eye pivots in the socket tracking
Movement in the surroundings.
Ear scans a like distance listening
For unfamiliar sounds.
Nose draws a tighter circle
Warning of intruders
Touch clutches the skin
While Taste fusses with tidbits
Already in the mouth
About to become part of flesh.
Launched into a world noisy
Touchy smelly and dangerous
Little Spirit would not know
What to do with itself were it not
For the one string instrument
Each grace carried in tow.
This is what the graces do:
Pricked by a change in things familiar
A grace plucks the string of her instrument
And vibrations invade your body—
Sensations in spine the gut or heart
Tell you to run or fight
Or grab that something
Facing you then and there.
Jolted to the cutting edge
The body will act or perish
And to fetch that extra spurt of breath
To activate flesh
Little Spirit spirals inward—
Toward the radiant source trapped in matter.
The closer to home the more of self
It becomes and so has
More of breath
To pass on.
Near the luminous core
Little Spirit is so full of self
So charged with joy for self that
Drawn closer still it would
Burst into flame.
In turn
A tremulous sensation
Bids the body to unwind
And Little Spirit then spirals outward
Away from the incendiary core
Toward the slow ways of flesh.
At the edge of heartbeat
It lingers listless waiting for a jolt
To send it spinning again.
When serving the whims of flesh alone
Little Spirit is so drained of self
So de-spirited so dimwitted
It hardly knows itself anymore.
Whether a grace plucks the string
Loud or softly, whether sensations
Tickle pinch or hit like a drumbeat
Attraction corrects imbalances
By sending Little Spirit
Inward or outward
To where the charge it carries
Matches the need of flesh.
In that sweet spot
The right dose of breath
Re-instates wellbeing.
When the balance level tilts again
The sweet spot is sweet no more
And Little Spirit is whisked off
To fulfill the next demand.
Having no idea of
What happens to the energy
It delivers or holds back
Little Spirit is innocent of intent.
The body however
Addicted to wellbeing
Clamors for the sweet hum
Of satisfaction—
Arms lift to embrace
Fingertips itch to touch
Blood dances when lungs
Fill with song.
*
So. All those sweet rushes and
Sobering slow-downs
All the breathtaking leaps
That quicken the heart
And the sigh-full lows
That leave the body listless are
Puppet strings in the hands of Attraction.
When you reach for a plum
When the hand jerks away from fire
Little Spirit has already made the leap
The body has already responded
Without consulting you."
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