return to the body

every time i
return to the body i
reach for my camera
set up the tripod
and take self portraits

self portraiture is a ritual
in which i commune with
mind, body & soul

sometimes life feels as if
i am a passenger drifting upward
through a spiral of departures and arrivals
when i look outward through the eyes of this body
there is a sensation of spinning, endlessly

close up
this life
is a carousel of pixels
frantic bursts of bright dots
of light & color
with waves of emotion
electric shockwaves that pulse
through this living flesh

i am a reflection
of the life i have lived
fractured shards of memory spliced together
facets formed into a named identity
and by miracle this name, this identity
animates this body
feral, earthy, raw
vulnerable
a self, alive in its own right

how can the experience of being alive ever be explained in a way that makes any sense at all?

why the body?
why the pain?
why the ecstasy?
why the fucking rain?

i am tired
of explanations
and ready
to lose my self
into expression

every time i
return to the body i
reach for my camera
& every time i
photography myself i
return to the body