Meat Blood Brain Stew And You

There are things we sit and think about on cold days by cast iron

These are the things bright screens and listening machines mute and diminish until we can barely see past the edges of our faces and we can hardly hear our heads

Quiet is the best pot to stew wonder

Boil meat and brain and love together and blood begins to flow in our heads once again

Boredom brings us to a human place, a place that is painful and overwhelming

And it brings us meaning and meaninglessness cooked together into a satisfying, delicately spiced dish

I want to live life away from the clamor of this culture, away from positioning and propositions and the ruthless, zealous sport that clings to my clothes

I want to brush it all away and pull a child from under my dress, lifting him into a world where humanity is washed of insincerity

I want my child to produce, to contribute to participate and yet reject large chunks of this haunch presented to him, rare and bloody. I want him to nibble at the meat, cut away the fat and toss it to the dogs

I want my baby to look up at the sky and understand the planets spinning, the pine trees piercing the abyss and acknowledge his own immense insignificance

I want him to understand he doesn’t know anything at all, but that he is an irreplaceable part of this massive mysterious myth, that he and I will end but the universe will continue and through it we are limitless

I want him to discover that the power of his heart pumping is its own universe.

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