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.
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,
Skip a life completely
Stuff it in a cup.
Family’s are subject to decay
Like any old element.
Memories become impossible burdens
On the soul.
People get lost in their dysfunction
In their own lives
They forget too easily
What was once precious,
And forgo it for their own reprieve.
Sand castles built in the afternoon
Will have washed away
When the stars come out.
The waves may look like glass
In the morning
But at night they rage.
They swallow sand and kelp
And images held dear.
No man steps in the same lake twice
For it is not the same lake
And he is not the same man.
Things do change.
If I am certain of anything it is that.
Not much can be done about it.
No amount of denial or effort.
You make the best of it.
And maybe internalize the pain
Take it upon yourself
That the family was destroyed in a fire
And the good times are draped in shadows
And you are not in family photos anymore.
And the beach grass smells like something
But you can’t remember what.
The sticks don’t resemble swords anymore either.
They’re just sticks.
And the water is receding
And so are you.
And if there is any silver lining
It is that mountains don’t move at all.
And they will always be there to cradle you
When your mother has died
And your childhood home has been sold
To a couple
Who made a sauna out of your playroom.
And if you are lucky you will not
You will find your solace in the moment
In the sun
In the wind
And your own inner strength.
You will live in a depression
But create happiness from inside yourself.
Your heart will beat stronger wherever you are
Regardless of the sunsets
Regardless of fig newton’s
Or fruity pebbles.
Your heart will beat stronger because you made it so.
You made it so.
You made it so.
I walked to the grocery store the other day
For a bag of jumbo avocados.
I took them home and mashed them
Into guacamole for a birthday party.
I added lime juice,
Red onions – diced,
And tomatoes — the kind that tastes more like a vegetable than a fruit.
I added garlic salt,
I tasted it every step of the way.
I sat down at a table among friends.
We ate the finest homemade macaroni and cheese.
We slurped up sweet zoodles,
And whole heaps of cheap wine.
At one point a baby raccoon wandered into the yard.
We told stories on a small pink stage.
We made s’mores with peanut butter cups.
We sat until the embers burned
And the partygoers left.
We smoked cigarettes and talked about shame
And the limitations of our power.
We reconciled differences,
And laughed with each other.
We looked at stars
And fathomed at their deaths.
When the night ended I went inside
With a ball of fear heavy in my chest.
I found the lovers hugging in the kitchen.
I did dishes until the ball disappeared.
The guacamole was gone
But for the hardened, discolored remains
In the bowl.
I put my hand under the hot water
And let it run.
A voice in my head said something about a global water crisis.
I turned the faucet off and stood there alone.
I looked out the window into the yard,
Where the puppy had dropped another baby raccoon
Dead in the grass.
I thought about masks falling off,
And the smell of nag champa.
I thought about the desert,
And vision quests,
I thought about how some things turn bad
Faster than avocados
And how the things worth staying for
Are often taken for granted.
I looked at my reflection
And saw the abandoned house next door.
I saw the bushes rustle
And the shadows dance
I saw among the darkness something like a home.
I fell asleep at dawn with my headphones in
And my heart threatening to burst wide open.
I am no more
Than one series of thoughts
Away from depression.
Make two days
Of deliberate action
And call it progression.
How easy it is
To succumb to regression.