Still… 

This is a test blog -- a piece I called Still.

I do not want borders. Nor closing. Nor ending cleanly. I want the open-ended disconnection. I want the agitation. I want the complex constant churning desire. I want the idea

that anything could happen, still. After all that…Like Picasso burning through muses, one beauty at a time, falling in love, over and over, and over again. I am no wide-eyed Buddhist, chasing peace, but rather, I seek the slow discovery of scents and sounds and sympathetic longings. Her voice. Her smell. A shoe. The way she walks. Soft eyes. Kindness. Intelligent wit. Whimsy. They become muses only by accident of desire.

Even a character created from nothing but paying attention can cause me to change course. A character created by me can capture my own foolish love! Can break my heart! Be still, Trofimuk! Climb up into the elm in the back yard and sit on the low branch and don’t move. Be like a winter chickadee. Be aware and make your heartbeat disappear. Breathe small. Be beautiful and silent in the midst of the falling snow. Remember, stillness is as much a part of dance as movement. Now, just be still.