II. THE CAVE Space to the mind, the painted cave of dream. This is not a womb, nothing but good emerges: this is a stage, neither unreal nor real where the walls are the world, the rocks and palaces stand on a borderland of blossoming ground. If you stretch your hand, you touch the slope of the world reaching in interlaced gods, animals, and men. There is no background. The figures hold their peace in a web of movement. There is no frustration, every gesture is taken, everything yields connections. The heavy sensual shoulders, the thighs, the blood-born flesh and earth turning into color, rocks into their crystals, water to sound, fire to form; life flickers uncounted into the supple arms of love. The space of these walls is the bodys living space; tear open your ribs and breathe the color of time where nothing leads away, the world comes forward in flaming sequences. Pillars and prisms. Riders and horses and the figures of consciousness, red cow grows long, goes running through the world. Flung into movement in carnal purity, these bodies are sealed warm lip and crystal hand in a jungle of light. Color-sheeted, seductive foreboding eyelid lowered on the long eye, fluid and vulnerable. The spaces of the body are suddenly limitless, and riding flesh shapes constellations over the golden breast, confusion of scents and illuminated touch monster touch, the throat printed with brightness, wide outlined gesture where the bodies ride. Bells, and the spirit flashing. The religious bells, bronze under the sunlight like breasts ringing, bronze in the closed air, the memory of walls, great sensual shoulders in the web of time. Muriel Rukeyser, Ajanta
Posted on: Sat, 02 Aug 2014 02:24:39 +0000
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