I'm writing down whatever it is that I am thinking so that other people can know what I am thinking. The only problem with this plan is that I lack the something to articulate.
I cannot explain the way tears slowly find their way from my eyes to the cement behind my head as I lay under pink clouds and wonder if this is an omen for what lies ahead. It's not too far for me to believe because, as I find myself in a state near leaving, I think pinkness is representative of the storm that it brewing within and so many weeks into the future it will become a sign of climate change. I need to get a move on before I get too comfortable with the rising heat.
I once wrote about the winds of change and wish I could now point out the changing winds that halt my breath and keep me guessing when I'll eventually breathe again with slowness, stillness, and content--and relieve myself of the troubles that are beginning to accumulate all around me. I need stronger levees, or taller trees, or an oxygen tank to guide me to the darkest depths of the sea. Maybe those tears are a slow eruption because I find myself in the center of a cyclone. To push in any direction is to question whether or not I can actually handle the weather, weather the storm.
Summer has been bringing so much change that I want it to be winter, where silence dwells in the spaces between the flakes and reminds me to take solace in the moments between my subtle mistakes. The flakes fall gently and life consists of the in-betweens and yes, it's so true, that it's near impossible to live somewhere in the middle. That is why the buddha taught of the middle way and we must be diligent enough to simply meditate.
If I can connect the dots with lines of thought that are not too distinct from feeling, maybe I'll be able to percieve the outline of whatever it is I'm believing. With Time I'll let the colors fade in to see that rainbows are more than illusions, that questions are superfluous with greater faith, and I just need to have faith in reality.
The truth shall set us free and the truth is--some things will always escape me. I can't expect to know what's best or yet to come because, damnit, I'm not omniscient and I've much farther to come along.
So when the rains drop their worries onto me I think I should feel grateful for their honesty. And when I get too close to tearing myself an escape route from the eye of this storm, I think I should feel patient and wait for the moment when I can sink into myself, lay on the ground, and let it blow warm kisses over my body like a ceremonious rebirthing.
I know I'll make it, out, or not, and what others witness of the winds that surround me will be from the outside. But I'm on the inside and I can see that the only options before me are to look up with faith, or risk injury by running into the invisible walls around me.
And that is why the water works its way up from the bottom to the surface where tears can kiss the air, and it says it's okay.
just breathe, love.
breathe, dear.
be patient, my love.
have faith, my dear.
-7/08
I cannot explain the way tears slowly find their way from my eyes to the cement behind my head as I lay under pink clouds and wonder if this is an omen for what lies ahead. It's not too far for me to believe because, as I find myself in a state near leaving, I think pinkness is representative of the storm that it brewing within and so many weeks into the future it will become a sign of climate change. I need to get a move on before I get too comfortable with the rising heat.
I once wrote about the winds of change and wish I could now point out the changing winds that halt my breath and keep me guessing when I'll eventually breathe again with slowness, stillness, and content--and relieve myself of the troubles that are beginning to accumulate all around me. I need stronger levees, or taller trees, or an oxygen tank to guide me to the darkest depths of the sea. Maybe those tears are a slow eruption because I find myself in the center of a cyclone. To push in any direction is to question whether or not I can actually handle the weather, weather the storm.
Summer has been bringing so much change that I want it to be winter, where silence dwells in the spaces between the flakes and reminds me to take solace in the moments between my subtle mistakes. The flakes fall gently and life consists of the in-betweens and yes, it's so true, that it's near impossible to live somewhere in the middle. That is why the buddha taught of the middle way and we must be diligent enough to simply meditate.
If I can connect the dots with lines of thought that are not too distinct from feeling, maybe I'll be able to percieve the outline of whatever it is I'm believing. With Time I'll let the colors fade in to see that rainbows are more than illusions, that questions are superfluous with greater faith, and I just need to have faith in reality.
The truth shall set us free and the truth is--some things will always escape me. I can't expect to know what's best or yet to come because, damnit, I'm not omniscient and I've much farther to come along.
So when the rains drop their worries onto me I think I should feel grateful for their honesty. And when I get too close to tearing myself an escape route from the eye of this storm, I think I should feel patient and wait for the moment when I can sink into myself, lay on the ground, and let it blow warm kisses over my body like a ceremonious rebirthing.
I know I'll make it, out, or not, and what others witness of the winds that surround me will be from the outside. But I'm on the inside and I can see that the only options before me are to look up with faith, or risk injury by running into the invisible walls around me.
And that is why the water works its way up from the bottom to the surface where tears can kiss the air, and it says it's okay.
just breathe, love.
breathe, dear.
be patient, my love.
have faith, my dear.
-7/08
No comments:
Post a Comment