It’s been a while since I wrote like this on empty sheets and blank slates a stream of consciousness. One of the kindest writing styles—letting my soul get blanketed in the black and whites of the paper. You were sad and possibly nostalgic, yet I felt whole even in the emptiness and the dark of the night around us. Sometimes the balance of the light and the night seems offset, but at least you’re there in the morrow to see the sun rise.
I recall snowy nights and long and lonely walks full of joy and sadness in the glitter of the snow and the chill of the crisp air against my coat. Did you know that in the loneliness exists the bittersweet breath of life? You can only be lonely after experiencing the delight of another kindred soul making its way in the universe with you. Man… this universe is large, but somehow our world is the size of a corridor winding around itself. So many memories and so many thoughts that brought me back to life on this odd night. How is it that everything seems okay lately even when the world is tearing itself apart?
I saw your failing ventures and smiled—the thought of you leaping out of comfort and trying something new brought me joy. I saw success in the small moments where creativity blossomed like cherry red blossoms on the tree. Thank you, world, for bringing love after death and bringing life from the soil. Thank you for the tears that fall from my eyes in bittersweet emotion as my eyes stay hydrated. Thank you for the breath in a quiet room and the beats of music playing in my ears.
And if you’re sad, just know that you will still remain…loved…imprinted in the hearts of others. Hike your mountains and walk your winding roads. Make good and bad choices, but keep going. Whether or not I remain here today or tomorrow, my will will stay in the air as it fills your lungs. There are so many ways to love and I love so many times.
When the tree gets it’s limbs cut off, it grows new ones in different places. That tells you two things: 1) it continued to grow after facing adversity and 2) it learned from the experience enough to grow in new ways.
At times there’s pain—an unheard cry for help or heard, but not understood. Sometimes it’s a winding path that takes you in loops until it’s as if there’s not beginning and no end. The air is thinning, through time the world takes you spinning in a dizzying carousel.
Your crippling depression brings all of those around you to their knees and so you’ve turned to holding the whip of superficiality and now that’s all that you live for. You know this is about you and yet you pretend to misunderstand and you believe yourself above the clouds, immaculate because of your strife. In your eyes, you were dealt a lot in life that should have never been dealt to you and sure, you’ve been kind… to those outside of your circle—those who are appeased like fickle gods by vanity. I hope you know that you were needed, but somehow those that needed you earned a lesser value than those that emotionally obscured you, emotionally abused you. I also needed you once, but now I realize that I don’t need much at all and I guess I’ll keep living my life because I cannot stand to wait for your affection. Perhaps we’ll never form a deep connection and on our deathbeds will lie unfinished business, but I guess that’s the price to pay for broken families.
I guess I’ll write to see if I can evoke the thoughts within my heavy head and chest. I guess I’ll see if the world isn’t too dark to face in this tired state of mind. My love is heavy and my eyes are hot and damn it’s hard when the past is dredged up. It’s one of those moments where everything triggers and I just want to move to Portugal. But fuck I learned to love and now I’m scared of what is coming around. I don’t really pray but if I did I’d ask for another day, another dollar but only if I keep the same lover and if he’d know what it’s like to be sad that it wouldn’t be penetrating deep like it does to my core. Will tomorrow be a Brand New day that I can face as I open my windows to let in the sky and a mosquito or too? I guess I’d pray for forgiveness for all of the times that I wasn’t enough and that I decided to give up instead of move onwards into the day that tomorrow could be. It’s a pandemic, really, the way things end up with slight infection catching on and infesting the tendrils leading to the veins coming out of your heart (is that right?). It hurts me to hurt you but fuck am I sad sitting on my bathroom floor under the burning water. Maybe I’ll feel something.
It was the first day of limited conversation and prophetic longing. The first day at the bed laying in emptiness and hidden worlds of turmoil. It was the 21st day of the year that felt like the last paragraph at the end of a book’s chapter that released its reader on a sad note. It was cold in this room, an iciness in the Florida weather and my daughters of the moon kept their own company. But you see, here I lay thinking of my days and heart shrinking.
There is strength in knowing that you’ve traveled far and true in the realms of what it means to be a human in hurt. There’s a certain relief at the resignation of knowing that the Earth will continue to orbit around a sun that has yet to burn out for eons to come. There is purity in knowing that the wind can quell your sorrows and place your anxieties to sleep if you give it that power. There is a cleansing in cold rain drenching your clothes in a downpour if you lend your muscles to the power of nature so that they may relax. No matter what tribulations you journey through remember that your heart is still beating with the hum of the Earth and your breath inundates your lungs like a transparent and active ocean.
I just didn’t mind the aching muscles and tired temples right before the dawn. I wanted to explore new territory and to challenge myself and those around me to be a little nicer. Then extraneous variables somehow seeped into the mix and turned a yellow morning into a cloudy, yet boiling afternoon. I wanted to stand up for myself then—stand on a mountain and let my voice echo my truths and experiences in dealing with angry faces and curdled lips because their voices were acrid and their chests were a graveyard of worms because even they could not get nutrition from that rancor. Who knows? Perhaps I still will let my words crash into their ears like heavy waves against the cliffs, deafening all else.
Underneath the full moon I muster all the strength required of oceans to swish into shores in darkness. The sands by my feet are velvet as my night-lantern guides me from the sky. Goddess power flows through outstretched hands, permeating the salt crystals in the air. My skin glistens with dew and light and within me a light shines outward. A third eye opens and looks steadily into the shadows cast by the moonlight and within me courses knowledge of secret enchantments long-quieted by witches securing the secret of their craft. They tell me know the things I must know. The shadows come into light—moon goddess.
Always ask for more and maybe you will receive your hopes and dreams with open arms. Ask for depth and perhaps you will become an ocean full of life and cycles. Seek new heights and you might be like the moon in her godlike trance and slow transitivity. Just ask and maybe you will receive.