tabula rasa

just arrived in portland. read about patti smith the whole time in mark paytress' wonderful chronicle of her early years, break it up. now is a time to be constantly reinventing and redefining. wiping the slate clean over and over again until new compassion and new truths finely begin to bleed through. in honor of all the courage and fire she gives to me, I'll leave you with some of her fine words.

the plot of our life sweats in the dark like a face

the mystery of childbirth, of childhood itself

grave visitations

what is it that calls to us?

why must we pray screaming?

why must not death be redefined?

we shut our eyes we stretch out our arms

and whirl on a pane of glass

an afixiation a fix on anything

the line of life the limb of a tree

the hands of he and the promise that s/he

is blessed among women.

charms. sweet angels--you have made me no longer afraid of death.

patti smith