Archive for May, 2011

I choose to write. choose as an afterthought, a thought following the careful contemplation of things that were, that are, that may be. I choose mostly to reflect, to avoid the high of anticipation, and buffer instead for the reality. I never thought I would be here. sitting. sometimes in tears, others in smiles. I never thought I would be so afraid of choices I don’t think I have, and equally of the the choices I do. Busy, tired, tried, tested, confident, passionate, bruised, and recovered. I am me as I face the day. I am me. Strong, bold, daring. I am strong. They say it all the time. I am doing the right thing. I am strong. I am weak, I am tired, I am who I am, but who am I. Who am I to face the day, to mock the light and glow in the darkness. Who am I to assume a choice, a path, a way that may or may not  be. Who am I to enjoy, to devour, to adore all these right moments, should they be right, and if not, why I am in them. Who am I to be afraid. Afraid….timid in the face of beauty, in the joy of life. Uncertain that the outcome will be worthy of my efforts, uncertain my efforts will be worth of the outcome. But there are no choices. There is no other path, not any other than that which I choose, that which I embrace and desire. But desire is skin deep, desire is shadowy trouble…deceptive and misleading, or is it. Is desire so tainted, or is desire so pure? why fight what you want in life, why deny that which you want, who you want and where you want are ill for you .Why not. Why not be in this moment that is, why not accept that moment that is coming, why not allow the freedom of not choosing….I never chose, except to choose. What now….

nothing i can write tonight is right, and yet nothing about it is wrong.

The cacophony of the day.

I sit, I play, I carry on this day in that way I do. In that way I carry on

with you.

I am lost to the clock and the agenda, I simply glide.

There is no expectation, no check list, no right or wrong.

There is nothing but the flow of the wind and the pattern of the sun.

The flux of life as one moment leads to another in a symphony of curiosities that are best left undefined.

We talked, maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less. We talked fervently. I reached for each moment, clenched tight, but free flowing. I wanted every moment, every breath, every pain. I moved through this conversation with the ease and grace of the butterfly, and yet with the fluidity of the wind you beat me. You reached the end before I knew I could. The pace was quick, and the sound was quiet, the words you spoke were what I needed, what I hated, what I loved. I kept pace, I searched for a breath, I struggled to finish as gracefully as I began. The whisper moved the hair from my face. The heat hit me, kept me at bay, the tension, the desire. We danced in the shadows and forced moments in the light. The pace was hard and fast, undeterred; yet lacking any real direction, no goal no path straight to follow. I pushed your arms one by one, and felt you soft on my face, warm on my neck and cool at the end of it all. I felt the end, cool in the heat. I finished. I ran. I ran maybe an hour today, maybe more, maybe less.

I wrap my head around my imagination and try to find the question to the answer. The imagination deceives me to your thoughts, to your person, to me to all, to the truth; deceives me, shows only all as I see it, I feel it, I believe it. The fluidity that exists between my truth and yours. The space between what is, and what is. The here and the there and the river that we travel. I would cry that river, wring it from my wide eyes, if only I knew how; but my lips bucket the dropplets; joyfully, wofully, mortally. Buckets of tears to shed in a stream to flood my being with all that is. Are there foruntes in my tea leaves and stars to light my way? Can I trust you to trust me, can I trust you to trust me that I trust me, is what I meant to say. Can I swim in the bucket, replensh my self from it’s source, can I consume the doubt in a gulp and choke on faith in a breath? The fluidity of unknowing, gives paradox to the bucket; to drown us in sorrow or replensh us in joy.

Whisper sweet wind, force me to close my eyes and loose my breathe. I am lost to you, a moment in time that escapes me, becomes me, terrifies and rejuvenates. Inspire my everything, allow me to see me through my own eyes, not yours, or anyone else’s, but through my eyes. Allow me to taste the dreams that tempt my aches and desires. Prescribe to me the elixir of relief in the security of my rest, of my giving in to the day and the moment. Do not stifle my progress, but encourage me, comfort me at each stance I take, and stage I face. Allow me the freedom of knowledge and the joys of careless afternoons, lazy breezes and soft sunken couches. Allow the joy of life. I feel no regret. No regret for an evening wasted to the moon and intoxicated rambles, and no regret for a morning wasted to the sheets; and I feel no remorse for not folding the laundry, or allowing the dishes to settle comfortably in the sink tonight, and no concern at deciding to ignore the news. I desire to fulfill my cravings to quench my thirst for the epoch of laughter, the longing to chase the curiosities of my mind, of the world, of another; to hold comfort, not just in my arms, but in my heart. I desire….