the weight of return

Over the weekend, I began to work on my garden here in the city. I'm clearing out what was planted by others that doesn’t suit me, and putting in plants that do. For my land in the country, I’ve ordered a battery operated ultrasonic rat repeller and bags of owl friendly rodent poison. I also bought a fig, avocado, and pomegranate tree at the farmer‘s market and have full instructions on their planting. Roots down, branches up!

As I invoke the work of inhabiting myself fully, the universe cooperates. I’m being reconnected to old friends and reminded of the array of things that make my spirit soar. The last two nights there's been a fantastic documentary on television on Bob Dylan, made by Scorcese. I love Bob Dylan. His music has been a steady contributor to this life's soundtrack. Full of interviews with incredible beings, I was particularly struck by the treasure of Allan Ginsberg. Both he and Bob have the trickster working thru them, both are natural shamans, both are nothing but fully themselves. But Ginsberg, his heart stayed open until the end. Dylan’s heart, that’s more elusive.

There are new plants both in the front and in the back of the house. I ate a copious amount of raw oysters in the last few days and spent two lovely evenings with friends who cooked delicious meals for me. Each day, I feel the weight of love and wonder. I am returning to the body where I was born.

Song - by Allan Ginsberg

The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction
the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.
Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
constructs
a miracle,
in imagination
anguishes
till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
burning with purity--
for the burden of life
is love,
but we carry the weight
wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.
No rest
without love,
no sleep
without dreams
of love--
be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
or machines,
the final wish
is love
--cannot be bitter,
cannot deny,
cannot withhold
if denied:
the weight is too heavy
--must give
for no return
as thought
is given
in solitude
in all the excellence
of its excess.
The warm bodies
shine together
in the darkness,
the hand moves
to the center
of the flesh,
the skin trembles
in happiness
and the soul comes
joyful to the eye--
yes, yes,
that's what
I wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,
to return
to the body
where I was born.