Lorenzo & his humble friends

The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool

The big chill

One week ago I went for a short and very random hike on the Ardennes with Alejandra, Daniel, Mita, and Toni. Thinking back about it now, that experience gives a brand new sense to the second last stanza of Thomas’ poem: Take me like some pilgrim / from the north, stumbling, sloshing / through this blankness, this / nakedness. /I am stripped of / my colour now. I am walking / amongst these frozen poplars as an insider.

A poem

My friend Thomas wrote this poem. I am sharing it with you.

Spirit is the warmth in our breath
when we, like birds tangled,
fly, tumble in thick air
to grounds of realization

we of that dance, will never
be the same again

(we stare at the moon)

take me to a white forest
where ice hugs the poplar and
everything is cold but my breath
which leads me somewhere.

(but not the sun)

Take me like some pilgrim
from the north, stumbling, sloshing
through this blankness, this
nakedness.
I am stripped of
my colour now. I am walking
amongst these frozen poplars as an insider.

I am beginning to think of us
and how, me being naked and iced
has frozen this time, and frozen this thought
and made clear this fact- that I am here alone.

So lead me breath. Lead me to somewhere I’ve never been.