Having Senses

Recorded taking a shower on a Philips Voice Tracer (hand recorder) in Düsseldorf, Germany (2014).
Cut the sound in software.
Wrote the poem (2015).
Recorded it on software.
Edited the two sound recordings together.
Uploaded to Soundcloud with a photograph I took while in Tibaani (2011).


A warmth runs over the toes sending a rapidly moving tingle of comfort through the body. The stream of trickles drown out the sounds of a fluttering life beyond the cold tiled room.

Quiet the thoughts.

Existence. Piece by piece, into a waterfall of warmth, tensions melt away in each life-filled muscle. They exist. I exist.

A gentle hold of the breath while the hairs are drenched and water engulfs the eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. Inside the liquid walls of warmth, there is safety, peace. We are existing exactly as we should, as we are, as all that we are.

Breathing out, letting go, the breath carries along with it droplets into the air. The rest is pulled down around the skin meeting at a puddle, plopping around the toes.

Listen. The droplets.

Reaching for bubbles, squeezing a blob into the palm and smearing it into the hairs. Fingers and their tips, now deeply submerged in an oozy fluff of soap, of warmth, of body.

Do you feel the perfection of the bumps on the skin, your skin?

Massaging and listening. Engaging. Humming.

The air is filled with a warm moisture, mixing, becoming the temperature of your body.

Pouring down over the follicles, cleansing, rinsing away, swirling down, down into the drain goes hairs, skin, liquids, to a place where humanity meets. Where humanity is one, where it all becomes one.

Towelling off and into the day.


(Photo: hills of Tibaani, Republic of Georgia, 2011)

(Sound recording: city of Düsseldorf, Germany, 2014)




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