Blue is yin. Green is yang.
Legends of the cosmos bask in the sunny nooks of my mind. I’m sprawled out in a dizzy ecstasy, nose against the freshness of grass. My eyes dip into verdant pools; follow a tickling ant trail on a bare arm – the dog’s wet nose glossing my warm cheek. My heart is a bright red poppy, breezy on its long stem. Day dreams bathe me in their lazy mellowness; plump figs plopping to the ground in a purple glade. The trees breathe huge green lungs into this country space holding me at ease in its ripe berry season.
When the climate ruptures, the pallbearers come, deadening the air with their poison fumes. Cruel February burns in my head; rages his balled heat in a furious fist. Bone-dry I reel back, stunned by such malcontent. The starlings drop like hot coals in the bird bath. The garden is a parched tongue. Death unloads its bleak crimes at my feet. In a desolate meltdown graffiti peels off the wall … Save water …Trudy is ‘n dronkgat.
I shake a plague of crickets from my ear.
Yin is the sea – open like a wide moisturised mouth.
I dive deep into her cool coral bowl. In this blue womb I’m a shell cradled beneath a sea of kite-high clouds. Wave-capped her heady depths lure me in until rocks recede in a dismal brown crowd. The landline blurs and dims. Hushed in a healing lullaby, I lose sight of the shore.
The world is an egg cracking open to birth a new consciousness.
Between mountain and sea I set out on my journey, a solitary pilgrim searching for Qi.