There is a softness to the thickness in the air. There is a charm to the steady questioning. The curiosities that propel us to our edge. The urge to fly. To make the dream real and the real a dream. Star wished annihilation. The urge to fling ourselves over the cliff. You were there. I know you saw the light. My insides, a buzzing hive of live wires. My heart, an infinite field of expansion. Noticing. Noticing the rise and fall of the great galaxies alive in my chest. Thrashing and then diving. Bringing worthy forth the currency. The wild tiger no longer in his cage. Not concerned with space or time or what others think. Not challenging or questioning the worthiness of his own aliveness. Trusting each moment. Each paw press to the earth is sacred. Im noticing the grip of my hand, clawing into the wind. Holding the pen. The tool to flow, to know, to churn. Releasing. Cutting cords on ones jaw. Holding a sweetness, feeling it all, the push to drive on. The motor that roars softly. The fabric that binds loosely. The moments that rush slowly. The excruciating experience of being alive. I am summoning forth the woman in my chest. I am summoning worth. The float of the great destiny. The whim of the great whimsy. The medicine of a moment. The universe of the eyes. Where the liquid meets the light. Feral chest of treasure. Seeking center. Gone like the neighbors cat. Mindfulness, to attend, to stay. Who has got me? I got me. What makes sense? I make sense. We are the makers of sense. Perceiving is composing. The act of perception is actually choice making. You are choosing what to see. What to attend to and in what way and with what filters. In this way you chose what happens and what you experience. You create your reality.
Posted on: Thu, 24 Apr 2014 05:53:39 +0000
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