if all of life were this lovely perhaps there would be no fear or anxiety or troubles between people
if all of life were as innocent as a flower, and every sound as peaceful as petal dust, if every breeze brought only lovely summer scents and fireflies, then, just perhaps, people could be kind and lovely to one another as well
I walk here every day. The hill is steep for my old knees, but I persist.
I will smell the water, before my feet even reach the deep, cool shade of the little oasis beside the road. It feels like visiting an old friend. There are always birds here, and small critters I can hear, and imagine, but not see.
I whisper to the trees, grateful for their constancy.
I reach out to low hanging branches
touching their tender leaves with my fingertips and my breath.
It feels like a kiss
and i hold it softly to me as i walk past.
I walk this hill to touch my universe, to experience life in its many forms. I walk this hill for me, for my soul much more than for my body.
suddenly the storm is me my emotions rage and tear the air like debris tossed about in a wild wind i will not be peaceful if it means dying with the words suffocated behind my lips i will not be a shadow any longer i must stand in the light even if it is a storm
surviving survival pulled all of my strings and tore at my heart ’till my particles burned with confusion and dread.
surviving, recreating myself, from a bundle of tangled, broken fragments was only the beginning. learning to live again, to find my own being-ness took all of my soul’s work and many days, and nights and years.
when my particles disassemble this time, I look forward to becoming rain
The concept of becoming rain is from The Art of Living by Thich Nhat Hanh
tonight, i feel like a bird’s nest covered with skin. broken, twisted little branches held together with bits of string and sticks and stems wound up tighter than necessary to protect the pieces of me that have yet to shatter