Meditations on the Vishuddha Chakra
Meditations on the Vishuddha Chakra 2 WORD We do it in our heads all the time, take a word and pull it back and forth across our imagination like one of those strange Olympic gymnast ribbons to watch the shapes it forms, test what it’s made of inside and out, let its vowels roll around in our mouths till we swallow them, spit out its consonants, repeat and repeat and repeat until a rhythm sets up house in the sound of it, and it, finally, quits making sense and starts making poetry, making love; maybe it’s the name of a child or a man or a town we drove through once on the way to the big city or maybe it’s a word with a built-in joke, a utility, like spittoon, or maybe it’s a sound meant to free pain and call back the memory of who we really are like Om or Amen or Baby, Baby, Baby or maybe it’s just the drip drip of the bathtub faucet slipping past the dry gasket grown too old to hold wet back when the moon is high and calling all water to it or maybe it’s one of those words like intuit that says one thing and means another depending on who’s talking, what’s stalking the meaning you may only intuit, in to it or not, we’re crawling along inside this thing like a boy on the make, like a talking snake in love with the word apple and slithering through the garden with a hunger to share the sound of its wide-open A, the soft explosive kiss of its Ps, the swallowed sound bite of the bend at the end of it, as if it were not the Last Word in fear but the beginning of something inevitable, something juicy, ripe, and spelling trouble, the kind we could all use a little more of, hear? Sherry Robbins, from Pilgrimage
Sherry Robbins 
Keep on writing this way without breaking lines without stopping without white space keep going like water like breathing the kind of breathing that happens by itself until the last one mine yours everyone’s our grandchildren’s their grand their great grand if if if if if if if if if
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Thanks, Nura.
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