Like Air

I want my love

to be the wind,

to caress the earth

kiss mountains

and dance

weightless

soft

free in embrace,

I want you

to fly.

A promise to my body and to myself

(And I’m sorry it took me falling on my ass)

 

I counted my veins everyday,

(for a year)

seeing without seeing

and

looking for an answer

(that lay elsewhere)

watched how they moved,

and

(as) though apart from me

willed them a different way.

(I’m done.)

July

I want to move closer into the heart of the world.

I want to feel

with it.

I want melody to dance through my skin.

This is all we have.

As much control as we had in our arrival

Is how little we’ll have upon departing

*when you live in each moment, you’ll find yourself with less plans. Stop looking forward

It’s hurting

You. Primal thought;

I

want

him.

but there’s much more, I

couldn’t write through

The poetry in everything

we’ve ever said to each other. I guess that’s how you know

A single note is played, 

sent into space,

pulsing through the layers

we can’t see.

Everything about that moment, and the one before, and the one after, is different.

The note dissolves, and still remains

ringing somewhere.

I can see it through my tears.

Sita

‘Do not be afraid to suffer,

give the heaviness back to the weight of the Earth.’

– Rilke

 

There was once a time, when the sky turned black

and Kali rose to her feet.

Shrieking and laughing, she spat:

‘Who do you think you are, to try and follow me here?’

From the darkness Sita answered:

‘All I am, is strength and love.’

She’d broken the curse and walking on, carried this answer with her always.

 

She grew to be the holding quality of love, the womb.

And so, for many millennia, gave men refuge inside her.

Cold, they drew warmth from her skin,

Rough, they healed through her softness.

 

She gave all she had, no less

they received,

and so she was.

 

Until, one day when for no reason at all, Durga chose to shift the winds.

From no where, they blew to Sita a gentle:

  Enough.’

 

There was a pause and tremble,  as somewhere, a gift was rescinded,

a tether severed.

And so, the ground rose to meet her.

Back into the earth,

her heart sank down,

finally becoming

my own.

 

 

Artwork!

Rilke

‘She who reconciles the ill-matched threads of life, and weaves them gratefully into a single cloth –

it’s she who drives the loudmouths from the hall and clears it for a different celebration

where the one guest is you.

In the softness of the evening

it’s you she receives.

 

You are the partner of her loneliness,

the unspeaking center of her monologues.

 

With each disclosure you encompass more and she stretches beyond what limits her,

to hold you.’

 

 1,17 The Book of a Monastic Life