musée mia burrus

restless river postcard

What started as ‘write a list poem’ and detoured into listless things, ended up with the observation that a list flows like a river. We always return to the river. And since then, List has flowed into Listen. Rilke’s Sonnets to Orpheus, The Spell of the Sensuous, even MIT’s ULab course have converged to enrich my presencing practice.

 
 the milky moon has no rivers
 just dusty seas
 named in a dead language –
 perfect repositories
 for faint hopes
 and faceless fears
  
  
 but you, restless river,
 pull hard, clear and mean
 at my most cherished
 and extravagant retributions –
 leaving me knee deep
 washed clean, and watching
 you laughingly carry
 my swords to the sea
  
   

The milky moon and the flagpoles at Dorje Denma Ling retreat centre – my alternative image for the postcard poem in the reading room. The moon was yet to set and my most of fellow meditators were yet to rise.