iz iz 6-8-05 12:17:20pm 7 Deer . Manik  tzolkin 7 wed

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   Sometimes it just strikes you like a bolt from the Blue, the impossible isness (iz iz) of yourself, of all of it, your & its unending stupendousness.

   You know in this flash that it is not possible, this abundance, this fecundity, yet here it is. Because it is impossible yet undeniable, it is a miracle. This miracleness sustains me always in all ways. It preens and purrs while you, stunned, admire it. The multi-verse,  many-poem place, is a cat I’ve discovered – it loves to be admired and petted. It is my job and my honor, my devotion and delight to relish it and to speak its wonders with whatever precision, explosion, and caress I am able.

   I have a responsibility for the universe – responsibility: the ability to respond. I take this responsibility with serious glee, this being the pal of the universe. We hang out.

    It wants to be noticed. That’s what I do with my daynights, my 1400 minutes, I notice it, I cherish it, I bury my face in its plush silver fur, whisper sweet cheery nothings into its ear. It’s hard to describe how lonely the universe can get. It lavishes everybody with tiny and with magnificent presents in a constant and fervent invention, and they hardly take notice, seldom say thank you. This baffles the universe, frankly. It gets so wistful sometimes; I take it as my job to cheer the universe up.

    I do not take my palship lightly — well, as lightly as dandelion down – I embrace many-poem with my astonished attention in all my seconds. The root of the word ‘astonish’ is ‘to strike with thunder’; I am thunderstruck; dandelion-puff-struck; keylime-pie-struck; vulture-struck; dirty-socks-struck by the filigree of the panoply in all my 86400 danightily seconds. I reel, a dance, a lurch, in a constant unsteady state of awe at the mischievous, elegant, raunchy, stately, languid, uproarious profusion of presents that many-poem lays at my tipsily dancing feet.

  I can’t stand for the universe to be so lonely, so I keep it company. It doesn’t want worship, it bloddy wants a pal. We hang out. We croon, giggle, gossip – the things pals do. I write it billet-doux. We tease and please. We celebrate, we hullabaloo – the things pals do. Being a pal of the universe is not for the timid. (Twelve important people in my life died before I was 29; I didn’t say this was easy.) You remember that photo of Koko the enormous gorilla holding AllBall the tiny kitten? The universe is a lot bigger than I am but, mostly, it holds me very gently.

   I have no ‘faith’ –who needs it? It isn’t distant. There’s no guesswork. Boom, the universe here it is right now. Luckily it never blinks. When I hear folks maunder on about ‘my faith blah blah,’ I know they ain’t got their finger in the socket of the universe yet. But that’s another bedtime story.

    We stroll a lot me ’n many-poem, and loll. And nap and snack. There are those hurricane episodes and other convulsions and revulsions of the dark that also dwell in its unfathomable heart, but mostly we do snoozing and amusing.

    Being a Jester to a lonely, proud, restless, and, well, ceaseless universe requires legerdewit I can tell you. You have to be on your wits all your seconds or many-poem will out-play you. I have free wit. You do not want to bore the universe.

    Being the universe’s pal is 99.66% up-side. There is a sliver of down-side. (Who woulda thunked the universe would be so insecure?) It has been known to wake one up in the middle of the night for a sniffle and a chat. “Hi.” “Hi.” Sniffle. “Tell me I’m beautiful.” “You’re very beautiful.” “Tell me you love me.” “I love you.” “A lot?” “Very a lot.” “How much?” “With all my heart and all my seconds.” “I love you too.”  “Thanks.”

     Then there’s a pause. It’s quite quiet. “Are you sure you love me?” “Yes, I’m utterly, otterly sure. I swear on the whiskers of cats and the leathery wings of bats. Now, c’mon, universe, I have got to get some sleep .Go play with the kangaroos, plump up some pumpkins, polish some crows’ wings. Aww, c’mon, don’ look so sad. Wake me up at <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />noon and we’ll do a gallivant. I promise.”