Your true color is dark gray, muddy, half devoid of substance as if it couldn’t be enough. Your halo is gray and tilted to one side and I saw cracks in your demeanor. For a while I looked at myself and saw some of you reflected as I slowly turned light gray from a pure white. Your color is dark gray, beautiful, but grimy and it brings me down and I wonder what it must feel like to carry that weight with you of pouring out uncontrollably as you hold on to fragments from when you fell to the floor and shattered. I am an act of self-love, in constant motion, and ever so willing to give the little pieces of light that I hold in my hands, but I can’t share that light if all you’ll do is obscure my path.
May the wind hold me for I am feeling quite tired. Perhaps it will carry me home into the grove filled with flowers and lay me down to sleep for a while. I have opened my chest and have let its contents spill out with sharp red rubies hoping that only good will come about.
May the sun come and dry away the cool rains that have woken me up from this charade.
So ethereal, the way the water pools into my cupped hands; its velvety caress and the cacophony of unpatterned rhythm lure me in to a tantric state. The being becomes what it surrounds itself with, the enlightenment comes from acceptance and awareness of this magical world around us. I am on a higher plane and outer space can be so refreshing.
Maybe I get a little antsy when things get tough. I clean my ambiance to refresh my aching muscles, especially the heart. Maybe I just want someone to hold my hand, look into my eyes and tell me that there’s company in the mess—the achy mess.
Waves slowly sweep me in, solidifying me into rock. With each successive crash I am built larger until eventually what will be left of me is a mountain underneath the sea.
Such a laboring thought, to know that all you can do is wait. It’s almost as if your chest were a wet towel wrung dry many times and now the threads are jagged and frayed. I’m looking forward to opening my hands and letting it all go.
Barefoot amidst the movement of lapping, cold waves—a gentle soul walks onward into the ocean. Mangrove branches loop out from the water and marine alluvium soils. Tiny fish grow within the intertidal zone, protected by the plants and disrupted by her calm feet digging into the sand. Hair wild amidst the cool sun rays softly kissing each eye into a deeper caramel hue. The water against her strong ankles as low pools fill and recede into the Earth. Gusts pick up cooling a body flowing in tandem with the ocean waves as the heart connects to the soul of the ocean.