A fissure in the clouds, shape of a spermatazoa, dissipates in the wind before I have a chance to take a picture of it. (What is that layer called, by the way, where the clouds reside?)
The things we see in the clouds – animals, geography, Jesus Christ or the Alchemist – flee with the wind, absconding with our thoughts, leaving behind weary eyes and good intentions.
Ever been to a place three, four, fifteen, twenty times and basically had the same exact experience every time? Kapiolani / Queens Beach is like that. The circumstances may be vaguely different – why you’re in Honolulu, how long you’ll stay. But the weather and the old men in chairs are always more or less the same. The boys on the sand are never precisely the same ones as last time but they’re still the same nonetheless.
rain on me
Sometimes I wait for the fissure in the sky to burst open and rain newness. Today was that day. The fissure was erased by the wind then a layer of sheet metal grey clouds slipped in and spat rain. I dragged our things beneath the wide umbrella of a sea tree. The newness was rain: it never rains in Kapiolani Park. Everything else was essentially the same, though I noted that they put some nice container plants around the snack bar. Very nice. Regrettably, the bathroom is still disgusting.
and then there was…?
If nature is chaos and the universe is recursivity (the hallmark of structure) and the multiverse is a manifestation of recursive infinity – same universe, only slightly different circumstances – and if God is responsible for all of this then God is chaos and God is recursivity and God is multiverses and that tiny fissure in the sky that evaded my camera was a portal to infinity. Just a glimpse, mind you. A peek into awareness. Fleeting like a tease.