Cascada de Mandor

Cascada de Mandor, four kilometres from Aguas Calientes, has a beautiful setting – as you can see. And now the rain, never far away, is joining the waterfall’s spray.

It feels lush, damp with growth, green with promise, where every living thing is an opportunist. I can feel the vitality, hear the trees groaning their reach for the sun.

Everything is a tangle, dense, searching. If I fell asleep here, I would wake with vines circling my limbs.

Riverside ferns and mosses and trees lean into the falls impatience for its water, as if not getting that floating droplet will negate its very life – and the next, and the next.

The water announces its presence like a brass band, forcing the air ahead of it in an elemental parade. It huffs and puffs its way through surrounding jungle, sending it dancing and fluttering.

The larger canopy above looks down on all this and glows benevolently. It’s old enough to know the order of things, has gained noticeable status by its sheer gravitas. I can hear its wisdom of silence and acceptance. I can sense its inevitable rebirth.

Everything is awake, even that which is asleep. And here, under my feet, generations of leaves gift themselves to the soil, to this jungle, to me, and all.

And me, no more alone, no more important, no less beautiful, no less participating in this cycle of life as every other living and dying thing.

I bury my green tendrils into this earth and feel this earth transmit its ancient lives into mine. The leaves of my skin join this forest floor. My limbs dance in this water. This forest accepts me for what I am. And I rejoice in being part of this forest, this water, the Cascade de Mandor.

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I Missed Our Dreams

I missed our dreams

like fashion misses a point
like forever misses anticipation
like ad-libbing misses music
like gossip misses meaning
like belief misses seeing

like an echo misses itself
like a painting misses an end
like a flag misses a pole
like water misses the fall
like desire misses it all

like being in misses out
like a worm misses the late bird
like a shower misses the singing
like a heart misses transparency
like shade misses a tree

like corners miss speed
like a leaf misses summer
like a lie misses the bus
like a knot misses the tie
like an oh misses the my

like youre misses the ‘
like thoughts miss gaps
like zero misses one
like a lighthouse misses a storm
like the guitar misses Stevie Ray Vaughn

like thinking misses happiness
like loneliness misses the self
like love misses simplicity
like horses miss home
like roads miss Rome

but missing missing
misses the fun
misses a point
misses the words
I don’t miss those dreams anymore.

If Every Day Was Christmas Day

If every day was Christmas Day
Would you buy more stuff
If every day was Christmas Day
When would enough be enough

If every day was Christmas Day
Would you make your peace
If every day was Christmas Day
Would all your wars just cease

If every day was Christmas Day
Would you give to the homeless
If every day was Christmas Day
Would you make it anonymous

If everyday was Christmas Day
would your love be shown not spoken
If everyday was Christmas Day
Would you leave your door open

If everyday was Christmas Day
would you think before you speak
If every day was Christmas Day
would you turn the other cheek

If every day was Christmas Day
would you stock up your ammunition
If every day was Christmas Day
would it be a rung for your ambition

If everyday was Christmas Day
would you fatten on gravy and ham
If everyday was Christmas Day
would you convert to Islam

If every day was Christmas Day
whose beliefs would you follow
If everyday was Christmas Day
Whose place shall me meet tomorrow

END