from snow leopard to butterfly: making crystals in my soul (or am i a flower?)

the mountain range inside me, the crystals forged within my soul, and the sky into which i am reaching

retrospective reflection

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i always want to say: i am a snow leopard.

why?

i’m not even thinking about the leopard!

i’m thinking about the mountains.

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mountains in kyrgyzstan (photo my own)

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i say: i want to be a great cat,

lost in the depths of himalayas,

discovering transcendence in the mountains,

hidden forever from the gaze of society.

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this is because i am afraid to go outside.

i have friends i am afraid to call, people i am afraid to see, things i am afraid to do.

at the same time, i have this sense that i do want to be alone, or maybe need to be alone at this time. i need to develop my spirituality; i need to see beneath the surface of things; when i go into society, i cannot tell: what is real, what is not real? i know that i am delusional about reality but i do know not how.

what i know: the mountains are my portal into the true reality.

what i need: to be alone in those mountains.

what i am: the mountain range; but not only the mountain range.

i am also the glacial snow, compacted over thousands of years,

and finally i am melting into my essence,

i am melting back into the ocean,

i am melting back into the sea.

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melted glacier, iceland (photo my own)

kyrgyz mountains, outside osh (photo my own)

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maybe once i’ve melted out from the mountains, i’ll feel fearless, like this:

“i'm not afraid of anything at all
not dying in a fire, not being broke again
i'm not afraid of living on a fault line
'cause nothing ever shakes me
nothing makes me cry
not a plane going down
in the ocean, I'm drowning”

(phoebe bridgers, “sidelines”)

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below: the himalayas (photos my own)

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whenever i am near the mountains i have this sense:

i need to disappear into those depths.

and yet: i’ve never lived in the mountains!

i’ve only visited them.

even so i have this feeling:

i hold my own mountains, and these reach up into the sky within my own soul.

i can wander within those mountains while listening to clairo, listening to phoebe, listening to lucy, listening to julien. i can become the snow leopard in those moments.

the truth about mountains: they do not only exist above the ground.

ancient people sensed that mountains had roots.

mountains stretch down into the earth, pressing into the heat of the mantle. mountains are buoyant: they are floating above melted rock. they emerge from the earth’s creative energies. and what is the earth doing? the earth is making crystals.

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Photo by Franco Antonio Giovanella on Unsplash

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this is what i am doing too when i sit with my music:

i am making crystals.

i feel the crystals i create within me,

and i feel what their energy can do for me.

so after several years spent exploring the mountains of my soul,

i feel at last what i want to be:

i want to be a butterfly.

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“A large swallow-tailed butterfly above, with two small beetles and four butterflies with open wings on left and right below, flanking moth with black folded wings covered with light spots.” (Wenceslaus Hollar — Bohemian, 1646, met open access)

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something is wrong with the bohemian butterflies.

they are inert, motionless, as if they were being catalogued.

this is what the positivists have done to us:

they have boxed us into precisely defined categories.

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i want to flutter around the world showing everyone my feelings.

i want to flutter up to other butterflies and feel them fluttering beside me.

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“Surimono are privately published woodblock prints, usually commissioned by individual poets or poetry groups as a form of New Year’s greeting card. The poems, most commonly kyōka (witty thirty-one syllable verse), inscribed on the prints usually include felicitous imagery connected with spring, which in the lunar calendar begins on the first day of the first month. Themes of surimono are often erudite, frequently alluding to Japanese literary classics in both texts and images. For the Butterfly Dance (Kochō no mai), performers don ornate crowns and colorful costumes resembling butterfly wings. Originally performed as a court dance (bugaku), the Butterfly Dance was eventually incorporated into the noh and kabuki repertoires.” (Kubo Shunman — Japanese, 1810s, met open access)

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i don’t want to be serious,

i don’t want to accumulate facts,

i don’t want to demonstrate logic,

i want to flutter: i want to move: i want to flow:

i want to feel: i want to express: i want to manifest.

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“Ehon mushi erami (Picture Book of Crawling Creatures) is illustrated with fifteen designs of insects and other garden creatures by Utamaro. Published by Tsutaya Jūzaburō , the poems were selected and introduced by a preface written by the poet and scholar Yadoya no Meshimori (Rokujuen; 1753–1830), who later became head of the influential Go-gawa poetry group. Several of the top kyōka poets of the day were invited to contribute.” (Kitagawa Utamaro — Japanese, 1788)

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Pair of Sword-Grip Ornaments (Menuki) — “Menuki are a pair of ornamental sword fittings attached to either side of a sword hilt.” (japanese, 18th century, met open access)

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Flowers (Liang Yuwei Chinese, met open access)

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sometimes though, i feel like: maybe i’m not a butterfly.

i feel like: maybe i’m a tree blossoming pink.

i feel like: maybe i’m a bee buzzing beside some nectar.

i feel like: maybe i’m a river with big white waves approaching an enormous drop-off.

the truth: i am all of these and more.

i am a mountain range, i am a butterfly, i am a tree blossoming pink.

i am a bee buzzing beside the nectar, i am a river, i am a waterfall in autumn.

i am the sky itself into which those mountains reach.

photo my own (northern michigan)

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on the nothingness of male friendships

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