The Mother Dream is essential part of universal beauty. But this worship dance can decay and the bitter ache of love poison pierces me deep in my belly. I long to remember this now languid dream, only yesterday flooded by the sweet morning light. This enormous but delicate vision chained to a delirious magic language of chants and sordid screams. I cry and run away. I shake and sweat and squirm and manipulate lies. Only after my urge to leave is gone do I loosen my stiff broken embrace to melt a smile and explore the present opening. To celebrate easy, a life at home.1999
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