I hear a crow, think,
“Carrion.” Have to
reconsider that which
feeds is not always
from a cornucopia.
Inherently I think some-
thing dead nearby;
inherently I feel my
eyes narrow to see.
I know what feeds
does not always appeal
to me and for an instant
I see me circling.
-Byron Hoot
Awakening is an improvisational act.
The unity of dreams is contrasted to
the unity of Nature the eyes first take
in. The improv is tricky for me; I often
forget how I have chosen and how this
place has chosen to be home for me
and how long it has taken me to say
the word “home” with any meaning.
Each morning there is that sense of where
am I. The sliding images of inner and
outer scenes dance with me, one step here,
one step there. The rhythm of shadows beat
everywhere. And then I remember I’m
improvising all the time not only upon
awakening. And home is now, where I am,
where I dance at dawn, where I hear and
see, where I walk in dream as if the ground
is underneath my feet, where every moment
is a crossroad, each step sliding in a direction
unknown and I whisper the word “home’
in exile longing.
"Want a miracle? Plant a seed.” Panteha
-Byron Hoot
