Jill Bolte Taylor's Stroke of Insight

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Tuesday, October 25, 2016

San Miguel de Allende, September 2016


Everything is sacred
The growling gutter-dogs
And the white dove winging her way
Across an indigo sky
Tired Mary drowned in roses
Her face upturned to Heaven

Everything is sacred
The bent old woman
Hair wild as silver wire
Clapping her hands and stamping
To the mariachi music

Everything is sacred
The white horse tied and waiting
Its gleaming coat newly brushed
Cocks its tail to send a stream of piss
Against fresh-scrubbed cobblestone

Everything is sacred
Bright breezes catch the colored flags
And thunderheads darken distant hills
Cathedral bells call for the faithful
Who kiss the bloody feet of saints

Everything is sacred
The black hearse blocking traffic
While angels spin in feathered stone
Vaqueros swagger under hats
Dark eyes grinning at pretty girls
In dresses soft as cotton candy

Everything is sacred
The silence in the zendo
Where my thoughts fly like cut balloons
Following flocks of singing birds
Away toward the setting sun
Black as writing on an empty page



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