Writings by Tim Girvin
Jáime les sensation forte

I like the strong sensation...and here it is, in the weaving of winds, this early morning, the stinging spattering of rain, in the darkness. There is a clapping -- and it's water slapping the waterbound logs, below. Madrona leaves shuffle like paper, riffling their revealing. The point is, of course -- what is the reading? In opening this book, what am I learning, reading, being exposed to.

I can tell you.

It's: enter quickly -- get in, do it, make it happen -- read all of it, as you can. I'm not suggesting a certain hastened reading, you can absorb at a pacing that allows contact, involvement and contemplations. But it is about that -- reaching in, being in the page of being, diving in to the waves of meaning; risking all: because you might sink.

I've been wandering; and other sounds emerge. Like the sound of the pines, rustling. And the grass, it rasps. Stones call a low crunching and rumbling -- and the hair on my arms moves like the stroking tendrils of sea grasses, beneath the waves, turning in their flow. Salt comes in, as fragrance. Water strikes my eyes, my face glistens with tears.

Light emerges, dawning; she comes...

North islands / 5.55am
(Originally sent: May 07, 2005)

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