Body is nature

Body is nature ,in leaf and in branch a bit of sky disappearing to a winter that has the four directions as clothes one wears , when one will go naked to the wind , breath like wind in door but body smile shall go on in the lips.

Body’s faint smile reasserts aliveness its relationships , all laughing matters all jokes remembered, fun replayed sarcasms revealed, jibes intended.

All this while ,inside, pectoral muscles are over time, bones in their support holding up nature like big green earth, a creation fish held to save world’s love of life, bon homie.

* Digambara

He wears four directions as his clothes. Does it mean he wears nothing? Practically nothing. First ,he wears N,E,W,S. Because the four directions are only with reference to determining his locus. Like the sky they are shunyata, a zero hood that is nothing except value it confers on  numbers,before and after. The skyclothes body wears confers value on it.

Clothes are the sky he wears .Sky is nothing.

I just stumbled upon zero-hood. Delicious turn of phrase. He wears zero as hood.

* Zero hood

I just stumbled on this zero hood. A delicious turn of phrase.
He wears zero as hood. Which means he wears nothing . It is a hood to protect him from the ravages of time, from the savages of space.

* Faint smile

Body has a faint smile. Under the lower basement the body smiles through the roof till the fourth floor living room, where smiles were till yesterday horizontal.

The faint smile will go on vertically till later in the day when it will turn ashes like all the previous smiles that went before.

* Wind in door

In the midnights the pipal leaves moan softly from a mountain breeze. During the hot day the children plucked pipal leaves ,moistened their spikes with their spit and made funny surrr sounds on them with their fingers.

The leaves are now moaning softly. The saddest mountain tales they have brought are too familiar to them. They are just doing their duty.

The wind is trying to pass under the door. As if a new postman is inserting mail through the door gap.

* From the savages of space

Ah, another good turn of phrase. Fits in nicely with the hood.

Who are those hooded hordes swarming over endless plains?

Eliot’s The Waste Land


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