Music is like that. And dreams. I remember meeting an ant in the meadow while I was kneeling in half prayer. The ant, startled to see such as myself, started to run away. But I called to it in the gentlest of my voices and it calmed down and returned to me. “Where were you going?” I asked. “Oh, the usual, the usual,” it said. “And what may I call you?” “Please, if you will, my name is Avinope.” And now we are best of friends, for he too enjoys this music and is likely to break into dance at the least sound of it.
I pray for Avinope
and all his kin.
And that cat Geoffrey
of one Christopher Smart.
I pray for all the music.
And, yes, for the cactus.
And the butterfly.
“Sail, Monarchs, rising and falling
orange merchants in spring’s flowery markets!
Messengers of March in warm currents of news floating,
flitting into areas of aroma,
tracing out of air unseen roots and branches of sense
I share in thought,
filaments woven and broken where the world might light
casual certainties of me. There are
echoes of what I am in what you perform
this morning. How you perfect my spirit!
almost restore
an imaginary tree of the living in all its doctrines
by fluttering about,
intent and easy as you are, the profusion of you!
Awakening transports of an inner view of things.”
(Robert Duncan, “Roots and Branches”)