November 9th- who will roam solitary? Who will glide together, bound? Who will be connected in a moody orb, and who will violently cut off, separate, shaking off togetherness into their own construct of liberation? Can each of these paths constitute ways of sliding down the butterfly’s wing onto a worked-out path of heart-pumpingly related autonomy? The ‘one’ and the ‘two’ project themselves over and over today, in the guise of vain politicians looking in the mirror and lovers peering over each other in lust and repulsion, and sick hermits, too, booking it away to the woods.
When the two butterflies entwine their flights on a barren, vast trail, they present two lifelines to humanity: one takes the form of lit bull’s horns arching up to the sky, attached to a dreamcatcher; the other our toddler selves gazing at the nocturnal bottom of a steep cliff. The horns move up and toward the “we all,” the cliff yanks us down to sort out the complexity of the I and the We. Either route, today, can be a road to what is most vast, as long as we accept the moods that exponentially replicate themselves along the way.