03142015

what if...? what if the wind were to blow me away?

outside, the sky is blue and shattered with clouds. a mild gust is blowing itself into every crevice of nature. i go outside. i sit with the wind and allow it to invade my space. i am, after all, invading the spaces it has elected to inhabit. 

something strokes my awareness. 

i have abandoned the perfectionist. somewhere, i have left her behind. i have disowned that person who expected everything to be just perfect... just right. maybe it was a flaw to be a perfectionist. maybe, on the other hand, it is a flaw to disown a part of oneself. wherever the flaw, i do not discard it. i embrace it. 

i envelope the flaw.
i envelope the crease.
i envelope the blur.

in so doing, i reintegrate what i disowned.

today, i hear everything. i see in bold color. i smell the blend of freshly scratched ink on paper. i feel the exhausted stiffness in my fingers as i pore over this page. i taste, in the pit of my throat, the hunger for more experience and more word and more expression. and, i know that i am just where i need… just where i want… to be. 

it feels good to know this.

02222015

she said,

another odd dream.

i can’t recall the details,

but i do remember waking up feeling 

agitated, preoccupied, disturbed.

i said,

as you talk about it now,

what disturbs you?

she said,

she was in the dream.

she?

yes.

the one whose imprint

i wish to erase.

i said,

who is she?

does she have a name?

she said,

i can’t name her.

you won’t…?

i won’t… name her.

i won’t give her that.

i said,

is that a rejection of ‘her’,

or a rejection of yourself?

what do you mean?

what about ‘her’ evokes

something in ‘you’?

you insinuate that i’m like her,

she said.

i’m not! i won’t be! i hate her!

i said,

yet maybe it is that part of her

you deny that conjures

a truth in you that you disown.

she said,

that’s absurd!

i said,

maybe so.

and maybe, alternately,

the hour for shining a light

on that shadow has arrived.

she said,

what would compel me to do that?

i said,

you speak of compulsion, though

there is also the matter of choice:

you can confront your shadow,

dialogue, and make peace.

or

you can allow ‘her’ to remain

hidden from your view,

separated from your awareness as

she festers inside you,

while you encounter the world

like an ocean without salt,

like an eagle without wings,

like a fire without oxygen.

02072015

another mindful serendipity...

pale morning.

the rind of torpor

hungers with greed.

01142015

oh, the rain of words…

the spill of silent thoughts

inked upon, not paper, but air!

words with which i seek

the subliminal memory of a dream

that remembers me explicitly in

the sinking twilight of morning.

no color. no scent. no sound.

how can you be made to understand?

memory is a somatic presence.

it breathes me in while holding shut

its topography within me.

it tunnels through the hollows of my body,

frayed with incertitude,

leaving its certainty behind.

i am injury. i am salt.

i am wound,

i say.

i am throbbing,

i say.

i am a vessel, emptied

and ready to receive.

i double over.

shadows spill from

my eyes, my ears, my mouth.

something blooms softly

in the angles of my core.

i breathe.

and again.

i remember…

not with my mind,

but with my body.