I begin to think something, an inkling of something. Possibility. My potential capacity to actualize aspiration. I feel the edges of my unlived life and quiver at its magnitude. I begin to think I am capable of incredible feats. A life of health, wholeness, joy, and deep commitment. So what stands in my way?
I can feel myself growing with each day.
New opportunities are presenting themselves.
I am leaving behind what distracts me.
And working hard to face what is in front of me.
Breaking out on my own.
Finding a space that is entirely mine.
Setting boundaries with people.
Finding myself within my own field.
Cultivating peace and inner security.
It is my inner strength that is bringing all this to pass.
Taking refuge in the jewel of my own heart
And thriving there.
This is a new world I’m treading in.
A new world of possibilities and satisfaction.
Of needs met and passions pursued.
What starts from within will inevitably make its way out.
And so I am beginning with the blank canvas of my soul,
Forging ahead with a new life.
One grounded in love and care and strength and resilience and fluidity.
And I am excited for the day when finally my dreams come to pass
Somewhere there is a layer of skin I no longer need,
A shell going back to the earth
While I rise
Little by little
Into the heavens.
Porching in peace.
Sun and breezes and leaves
And birds and lawn mowers
And sirens and junkies and parents yelling
And calicos and old men
And synthesizers and clear blue skies.
And I do not care where tomorrow goes
But today I am alive.
One day I woke up
To find the holy grail lying next to me in bed.
There was rust on it.
And a few dried drops of wine at the bottom.
I sat up and wiped the crusties from my eyes,
And felt for the first time as though
I knew I would be okay.
Always getting back to me
When the world fails me.
What soothes me
What ails me
Is the fight for true freedom
Amidst the burdens of dissatisfaction
The specters of an unlived life
The dashed hopes of tomorrow.
The field between my fingertip and the screen
Is a reverse gravity
A strong resistance.
If there are words they are teetering upon written
But remain as mere potential.
If there are feelings they are unformed
Sometimes writing is worse
Barefoot through a gator swamp
Or a swarm of bees
Or a cave of horrors.
Instincts and actions
Never seem to agree.
They bicker and battle
And melt into nothing
Into a sad paralysis.
A low grade misery
That permeates everything.
And in the in between space
Lives an insatiable dissatisfaction,
A disappointment at the core of me,
An arthritis of the soul.
In the field between finger and screen
Is a desire to run the fuck away,
To kill my passion
Before it kills me,