The Invisible Holding of an Eye

The Invisible Holding of an Eye

There you stand, facing yourself as though in the mirror.  One cannot become full without facing, the direction of the gaze is the content of the viewer.  We become full of watching, full of turning over in our waters, our kumbha, jar, womb, we fill and are full in thanks to the generosity of everything that can’t help but become, a process older than the topographies we clumsily hold our knowledge by, the waters on those maps have drowned in us, it is through us that everything is born- translucent into substance, sound, sign.  The road that leads backwards into history is unseen, it takes the direction of a body, your body, to face it, to turn your head, to rotate your form, and bow your present gazing towards what has come before. The scale of your focus is tiny, your looking can only hold so much.  Instantaneously you change, like encountering a painting, you feel yourself different by grazing on the past, ancient alchemy.  The distribution of your focus enforces a strange authority on all becoming, turning time over in your waters, your kumbha is learning, makes you to make the world, river over stone, round the edges of objectivity's cruel blankness, form everything towards the softness of need and pleasure.  This is the location of your god, the one that stands with you to hold you straight and warm with vision, comfort is the ultimate reason to sense at all.