adventure

somehow

after awhile,

I mistake for weariness

and

the staying

the building of life

the intertwining of witnesses

I mistake for complacency

Recognition

Do you ever have that feeling, where you recognize someone else's soul with them.
A slight, 'we have been together once' or 'we will be together soon.'
That the same dangerous thoughts crossed your minds, once or at the same time,
and the same yearnings for God to be as He promised, for the world to simply just be without destroying itself in war and the deep pains of bitter men.
The recognition of trying, straining so to not let the dark things overtake the joy.
To remember that the joy is not worthy of guilt,
that we should not be lonely because we are not alone.

sometimes the words are splintered and make more sense when they are said out loud-- trickle, hurricane, and a sweeping of the curtains

so this is difficult to admit, or say out loud, but it may be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,
the wire twists and here the wings form out of cast iron, how will they hold in the blistering air?

Tacks and nails, and the sharp edges of violets billow uncannily in the oceans.
so you say this is nonsense, but who are you to really know? there is sense,

look carefully,

maybe you will see it in the pauses

or lilts of this day

I too, always wanted the security of constructed sentences and phrases, but maybe there is something more.

faulting and stepping, the eyes flicker quickly in tune to the sounds of the grand experiment, nobody told you that you were a part of.

Have you met the other pieces of you, wandering the roads in the quiet glowings of the far off foreign lands that you should really be calling home?

Maybe you are nothing but the place everything seeks.

On surrender

When these words are promised into the night
whispered at a point of anguish or desperation
given freely as praise
are they fully recognized by the giver?
Does the giver know, exactly, the promise they make?

What, exactly, is being surrendered?

My life. Yes, this is easy.
My soul. Slightly more difficult, but achievable.
My mind. Attempting, daily.

But, my love, my individuality, my passion....?

Or harder yet, the lives of the other, the family, the dear ones, the ones I love that I do not even know. Am I willing to surrender them as well, without even a pause to breathe, to consider the implication?

I remember once,
the astounding sensation that my body was completely made to allow my soul joy.

Everything, designed, to make this self, whatever it is really (electricity? neurons? a painting somewhere in a museum? a slave? a color that hasn't been invented yet? a collection of memories? a history?) experience.

A machine, brilliantly engineered. So this God, has made this incredibly strong, complicated machine. That grows and moves and feels.

Strong enough to be broken, yet unknowingly fix itself. To be soft enough to experience pleasure, the lightness of touch. A mind which can make words on a page ideas and dreams and action.

Every sense, every thing that was made, designed to be breathed in and experienced.

Every sense, every flutter of heart or eyelash.

And when this soul feels so much, it literally produces a physical result. Hearts stopping at the end of the same 89 years, if they have been wound together by this whole life. Tears of joy or anger or sadness.

Please excuse me watching the slight side smile at the corner of your mouth, while you sip your tea. I find it wonderful, that this flavor is your favorite. That you can have a favorite.

That you have been given the simplest of choices, and find joy here. I can't help but wonder what you really look like.

(a painting somewhere? a color that hasn't been invented yet?)

make sure your eyes
don't succumb
to the dulling
over time,
the way that there was incessant light and aliveness

make sure the hard years and the happy years
don't take over your eyes
make sure you still have slight smiles,
and the let the corners edge upwards

make sure you let whatever is hopeful in you
continue beyond the harshness

find the passion in you and hang on to it
for it is dear and you are precious;

and this is constant

It comes down to this
of everything
all the lovers
and all the sweet smiles;
every doorway, every building
every window sill;
there are always
always
bars.

Each city-town
town-country
Country-world

Has the breezings of warmth
and the possibilities
of
the unending.

“You
could
be
loved
here.”

You fail to take
into account
bars are made
of more than iron
and steel.

It is about more than just (the me)
I am telling you this so you can understand

that (the me) is not the only factor, variable
in this
equation

(and who are you to speak of such things?)

So maybe you finally got this place, and you gave everything to be there.
Maybe now, you are alive and flushed and have chosen joy;
(yes chose, chosen, choose)

Maybe now, your body is your own, and you can let your eyes glaze over every inch
without the shameful things going through your mind; without shame.

Maybe now, when you speak you hold your head high, and when you listen you nod carefully and wait for the wisdom to sink further in.

Maybe now, your spirit is in high spirits, and says "Darling, I am so glad you have decided to let us be at peace", while nestling in the crevices of your body.

but, (the me), may not be the only factor.

So even if (the me) is healthy, even then I cannot ensure that (the us) is happy,

because there is always, always

(the you).

when I watch
the way you don't even realize;
exactly who you are and what it could mean.

there is beauty in this.