How have I come to believe that I am so undeserving of love? Perhaps not underserving, but so entirely separate from it? A monument to solitude, crumbling. And maybe you can see me briefly before the cloud swallows me whole, but seeing is not reaching. There is no touch.
If you jump, the fall will kill you.
If you swim, the ocean will claim you.
Out here there is only me; silent monolith.
Erupt (Heart Flow)
Open your chest; Allow your heart.
Ah ha! Yes - it is only you who has disallowed it, who has blocked the way. It is you who has devalued yourself.
And there you have it! Cling to the activities that you think may be your purpose, assign them that label, and they will become very heavy indeed. Quite laborious in fact - though you love them!
Now that you have found your true purpose, and realise that there is nothing for you to do, other than open your heart wider and allow exponentially for that flow of joy and beauty to increase - now you are released from the heaviness, from the weight that has burdened you! So long as erupting heart flow is at the core of all your thoughts and actions, then you are on course with your purpose, and ease will shine from everything you do. Peace will radiate from your being.
Paint the Earth
We are a forest, whether we all look the same or not. We all exist within the same energies of this world. Your attempts to strip the colour from those about you are foolish. Why do you fear so, those who choose to paint the Earth in a manner not prescribed by your bleak majorities? Is it merely resentment, in that they have the courage to stand alone, whilst you feel strength only when a thousand others stand with you, no matter how bleak your flimsy ideas?
I have no problem in isolating myself as fiercely as I need to, just to briefly touch the Earth with the colours of my passion. But there is space enough for every tint and every hue, for everyone is born imbued. You must not fear your intrinsic heart, or the hearts of those around you. The forest is large and the ideals are grey, but only so far as the colours of each are dimmed and kept at bay.
The Invitation
Should you happen upon the gate at the entrance of my mind, you may attempt to enter.
Do not expect the winds to calm, nor the ground to cease from shaking. Do not look to the sky to quiet its thunder, do not ask time to stay its maddening flurries.
It is likely you will not understand what you find there; you may not ever feel at home. The seeds you plant there may not grow...
...But they might.
And so I must invite you in, and see how far you'd care to venture, beyond the gate at the entrance of my mind.
E(arth)SCAPE
Above the confusing anguish, the contours visited daily by groping shadows, immovable silence settles around me. I know of the dreadful vastness I don’t yet understand, and my pitiful reach breaches no new ground.
But not so far above that I can forget the mountains, or that I am beyond the love of a winter fireplace. How it enthrals to stand and watch the stars, how it terrifies to watch the photocopied city folk.
How the sea shakes awake melodies in my soul that I cannot sing aloud, aware that I am bereft of the capacity to do so. I drift with shadows in silent wind, a silhouette between the blue and green, mute; contained.
Unable to mimic acceptance of the seated ones, fat and crooked; unable to see the difference between they themselves, and those who forget the questions on their tongues. Is it fear or obesity of the mind, that feeds those desaturated hearts?
I will not sit and grin dumbly with them.
I will drift instead in silence and grow my arms and reach. I will seek outlet for those songs that swim beyond a wintry shore, that like a haze now swim inside me and whisper that there’s more.
There is a hunger on my skin and a warrior in my bones, but peace lies in the vastness, too far beyond my windswept home.
Almost Alone (The Teeth in the Vastness)
I went to bed in the vastness
Almost alone;
But for the hunger
- my mind
Serrated teeth in my conviction
And there's no one to hold
So I feast upon loneliness
Solitude I hold dear
But is that just because
There's no other option?
When the only thing
That connects us
Is the depth of the ocean
Almost alone;
But for my crumbling neighbours
In an uneasy sea
Who settle contentedly
Beneath the sleek roving monsters
And for some reason above
Illumined in the night
I stand in the south wind
confused by my light
Almost alone;
But for the kiss of the waves
Those lovely lips
That swell up around me
And make love to my dreams
But offer no climax
The dangerous seductress
Who'll bring about my demise
But I resist the decay
Whilst I attempt to surmise
A reason for being
Here in the first place
Almost alone;
When all I crave is your touch
I want you desperate to fuck me
To swallow me whole
And throw my mind to the sharks
For they are the ones
Who are meant to have teeth
Not me in the vastness
Well beyond your reach
Almost alone;
But for the very same questions
And for the very same answers
That none of us know
And so we stand in the dark
Slowly crumbling
And wonder if maybe
We'll at last be together
Once we've all turned to sand
And made our way to the deep
And our relentless desires
Have all been put to sleep
And we'll drift with the tide
Almost alone;
But for the very same existence
That we used to call home
The Precipice Ahead
I have no fear of death. I know nothing more about it than you or any other expert on the subject, only that there is a definite trend amongst the living to not continue doing so uninhibited. Interestingly, for those of us who experience these ‘lives’, we don’t seem to have the foggiest as to where we’ve actually come from, if indeed we have come from somewhere in the first place. Perhaps it is precisely as it seems, and we simply materialise, ride it out for a revolution or two and then dematerialise. Easy come, easy go.
All of this not knowing is a tedious business, for those who tend to consider the edges beyond our tangible beginning and end. So tedious in fact, and so isolating, that loneliness and despair have become rampant favourites amongst the population. Some inhabitants prefer to occupy those peripheries with intricate imaginations, whatever keeps the loneliness out, I guess. The thing is, you can’t keep out that which resides inside of you.
If only they knew.
If only they knew that surrounded by a void, we have each other. If only they knew not to bicker over blind spots, to squabble over propriety.
Imagine acknowledgement of the nothing behind, and the nothing ahead, but also the everything surrounding us, moving with us, as we move.
And many soar over the edge, yet the heart always remains.
Oh fluid heart, I do not fear your waterfall, though I rush toward the precipice. You bring conviction to my inquisitive existence, as you bring me to your edge.
We rush toward the precipice, and none escape the fall.
Some Die In Secret
Some die in secret, painting meticulous shadows; one hand scratching the surface, the other already let go.
Some whisper goodbyes, music no other can hear; though you'll see them in the middle, it's more the edge that they are near.
Some smile from a distance, they know you can't come close; they've seen your reality, but value truth the most.
Some walk among us, who know they cannot stay for long; and it's only once they've left, that you might then hear their song.
Find Your Voice (Creator)
Find your voice. This does not mean to speak always.
It means thoughtful presence laced with gravity. It means emanating portions of yourself, measures of considered radiance.
Find your vibrance. This does not mean to paint your face; there is no need to embellish.
It means becoming aware of your ghostly reach in silence. It means knowledge of the interaction of your energy, with all energy about you. Intricate, ineffable, intrinsic influence.
Find your place. This does not mean to take a seat and write your pretty name.
It means gentle acknowledgement of the beauty swimming within you. It means the space within existence that you occupy, and of the perpetual conversation your innate being shares with a universe you are only now awakening to.
A universe which holds you gently suspended, Creator, and provides the potential for all the colour, and all the shape, and every form you should wish to take.
And you will know, that harmonies dance and intertwine, when you meld your energy with mine. How rich will the songs of our existence be when it is we who choose the very sounds of our interconnection,
deliberately.
She Was a Forest
She would fall asleep within a forest of ideas. Her mind would come alive, and she would walk softly through the darkness, allowing the light of her awareness to fall upon the silent stems as they bent toward her. They never offered her more than the simple fact that they were there, and that she was welcome to meander there. All this in contrast to the waking world, where everything and everyone seemed to rush passed her; suggestions, clocks, grinning promise and the tribes folk as they polished their teeth and pulled back tight their hair. So tall, all of them so tall. Alluring her to reach for them and their plans for her. Emotions would rattle her, though no origins did they boast from within her own heart.
And eventually she would reach, though no path led upward from her own feet.
She would fall asleep within a forest of ideas. Her mind would come alive, and she would be compelled toward the darkness, where nothing snatched at her from behind glistening teeth. But the trees were expansive, their roots were deep. And always she would come to tire of the darkness, and stopping to rest, place a hand on a towering trunk that all at once kissed the sky and nourished the deep earth. Her mind would fill in an instant with a rushing inspiration of unfathomable scope, and inside her chest, volcanos.
If only she could remember, when she woke, and the world roared around her again - that she was a forest, and a darkness, and a fierceness grew there, and it existed only because she did, because it was her, and she was tall. And she could see, and she could grow, and she could delve deep and fill the endless spaces with eruptions from her heart.
If only she could remember.