That Forgetful Sun, Rising up Again

Oh, my brain! That whirlpool of worries, that spit over a fire of yearning, that washing machine of sopping hopes, caged organ, croquet course of ideas and well worn waterway of stories; that attention hoarding dictator of dramas and whimpering slave to my ego. Can’t I just hear my heart pounding instead?  

Oh, my heart! That shattered glass temple, that forgetful sun, rising up again; that stormy tempest, great betrayer, tattletale to my mouth; that buried ember, unearthed and blown; that pulsing fistful of muscle moaning for life: more, more, more...  

Oh, my soul! That cobalt blue diver, that quiet and peaceful knowing, broader and deeper than the rippled surface anxieties of the mind; that infinite center, that faithful camaraderie with the self — because the self is all things at once and requires no distinction, no more than the laced and dappled light of the lake requests separation from the water.  


I was inspired to write this poem after reading a quote by Diane Ackerman in which she lists some fun analogies for the brain, and the painting is based on the beautiful black and white synchronized swimming shots of Swedish photographer Emma Hartvig.