Reflections on Storycamp Goldegg
What is beginning
in a circle?
A ring, lost and found.
It might not be that same ring,
but it still counts.
A couple walks into the chaordic path of marriage
in a room layered with stories.
Power stories turn to love stories,
thundering with light.
A fire burning,
heat is rising,
and what is left when it burns out its glories,
or rather, who?
A lake of raindrops, teardrops,
water still and always moving,
tension creating an illusion of a surface
of a clear floor made of glass.
Surface tension, tensions surface.
Losing balance?
Walking is just falling, interrupted,
always on and on and forward…
Or not.
Why must we always learn?
We are more spacious than we think.
We can hold the whole of us
and all the shattered pieces
bound with golden thread of cracks.
The only thing that’s ever still is dead
and even death just keeps on moving,
dancing, letting go and catching on,
falling down to rise again,
digging deep and giving birth
to something that has never been,
and is yet re-membered.
In our circle,
what is ending?
