We have arrived back at 4:57, and that means the end of tsetsol. In the near future, I will be making the blog into an etext for download. I will post a link when it is ready. My next writing project will be uji at http://tsetsol-uji.tumblr.com/
Many thanks to all who followed, commented and questioned. This project is dedicated to Amdo Emmanuel Carey and Ikkyū Sōjun.
Ever flowing a month of war and skin sweating catching on skin dry mouthed clear water ever flowing a month of saturation and depthless deep disorientated in murk and flow ever flowing a month of cranked dreary stories and monotonous lies falling on skinned flesh and sleep ever flowing. He wakes to the vaporous murk of dawn. Liquid becomes gas as his eyes are opened.
Conscious suddenly and anxious she searches for the cause of her waking, for the trace of a sound or the lingering of an image. It is there but she cannot touch it.
What can be and what was will be taken from me. He finds the thought, like the closeness of the dawn, comforting.
In her forty-third year her mind and body reach, unknown to her, a state of detente with the world. She realizes this before the dawn waking beside her husband and feeling a tenderness for his pale back. She lays awake, anticipating the coming sun.
Death is no death. There is no death. He is old. The meaning of the thought is clear.
In sleep, in slow pulses, waves and twitches, her skin seems aware of each movement of the air in her room.
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