Tealines

Welcoming

Opening

Resonating 

Vibrating

With the comfort of God’s Food, theobroma, I look out

at my own displays, formulations, postures. This poise

must be real. I am in it, so there is its reality. 

Shoulders drawn up, remembering that they are pendants,

struggling to let them hang. Struggle to let nature take its 

course. My appendages. My hang ups would be finished

if I let them hang. Not interesting in hanging out, only

transcendence, actualization. Realizing this, by itself, 

looks foolish like New Ageism. But given a greater context,

a life, a job, a routine, gains value through contrast. The ground

exists only when there is flight. Vice Versa.