It’s in the leaves of the dormilonas, that concept of sensitivity, that we try to skirt so as not to touch and disturb the peace of the night fog on cool leaves. I try to lightly tap them as if I were stroking pools of water so softly so as to not disturb the surface tension. So lightly like tiny mosquitoes soon to become part of a sensitive web of food that allows the flora and fauna to keep cycling through the carefully selected genes in nature. All is so sensitive and perfectly still as it vibrates atomically to frequencies indistinguishable to human ears. May the choices I make remain aware of the softness of this Earth and its inhabitants and may I take care of all in my travels as a world/life explorer.
In the words of Neruda, death is like an admiral waiting in the harbor. So then, what is life like?
One day, I too, will cease to be as will all pathways leading to me. Hopefully you will immortalize me each day in your memory. Unfortunately sometimes we may have to leave, quite unwillingly.
Sometimes the power lies in your fingertips as they caress the darkness inside of you. Your fingers caress the darkness surrounding you and turn it into a vague light—a slight illumination of demons and angels housed inside your soul. Let the night breeze guide you into a spell that you sing like a lullaby for the flowers growing around your foundation. The silver glints in the candlelight as you let the building catch fire so that from the flames, your spirit can be reborn. Rise from candlelight as the candle burns out and smokes itself into the nothingness unrecognizable as air. Light irradiates from you and warms the frayed buildings that housed your beliefs in between the night sky. How perfect did your shell burn into and outwards throughout the night.
Without even knowing what she’s made for, that stranger caught her essence in the air like the scent of mango flowers often confused for jasmine flowers in spring evenings.
Your mouth feeds me butterflies in droves of lies
Dozens spun into and down my throat to catch
Between the middle of my vocal chords
Until all I can do is choke
On colorful moths.
You will always know what’s true and what’s transient. Your heart will tell you. So choose the memories you make wisely lest you’d like to indulge sadness.