for the wild side...

in case it has been tamed.
or shamed.


the unforgiving hardness of stone.
the supple flow of water.

the reconciliation of polarities.
the multidimensionality of liminal spaces.

such is the elegant intersubjectivity of nature.



she said,
why does history keep repeating itself?
i feel as though i’m journeying
twice through every story
of my life.

i said,
that is the story of life.

she said,
how am i supposed
to move on?

i said,
don’t try to forget.
remember. honor the
truth of your own reality.

she said,
how am i supposed
to start over?

i said,
imagine. and, believe.

she said,
just like that?

i said,
just like that.



i awaken feeling rested. but, this is an impure experience of rest… one washed with a tint of contrition. i fell asleep on a wave of extravagance. abundance. excess. 

i open my eyes cautiously, aiming for the window. it’s still dark outside. the night remains dense in our vision far beyond the moment its thickness begins to unravel. but, i am not here to wax philosophical. or, am i? maybe so. 

i have been in active inner conversation, these past few weeks. late nights are especially dialogical. early mornings bring unrepentant discretion. 

i have learned to attune holistically to the sound humming inside the modest space of pre-dawn. i have learned to gather wisdom from the lips of quietude, consolidate it, and sprinkle it generously back into the boundless dark. 

i have in me a stammering need to say nothing, to deliver nothing and, instead, to settle into flowing inactivity. i am leaning into this reprieve. to sense. to embody. to make sense. 

i drop all filters. 
i unadulterate all truth. 
i unboundary all subjectivity. 

i am here to encounter.
and acknowledge. 
and support. 

some may call this
i think not.

this, i say, is
genuine authenticity—truth 
that connects with the self 
before it summons another.