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.
They look at you, knowing you, giving you the space to grow. They let you explore all the different terrains that intrigue you, all the while knowing that their home is the one you’ll return to. The focus is on the long game and the creation of a nation between your two warrior tribes—you two against the world. The story is in their eyes as they look at you knowingly and they recognize that you are thine.
May we raise our sons and daughters to only speak words that they feel within. Too often life is perceived as a series of actions in a drama and so people ignore the fact that those around them are human, not paid actors. May my daughter grow up in a world where she feels free to speak or write her truths without fear of being perceived as less than. May all around her recognize her awareness of life and respect her humanity. May my son learn the importance of listening in a society where all men do is speak. Where too many men speak incalculable volumes at decibels loud enough for rock concerts, may my son grow to also listen and speak when he finds something truly worth saying. May our children reflect upon their actions and lead lives of consideration for those surrounding them so that perhaps one day hearts will mend, and souls will fill to the brim with happiness.
Wisteria skies are on fire with the pretty pink and purple petals against the backdrop of red and orange sky-flames. Time shifts and rolling white foamy clouds fill a cold sky as hail and snow fall in disorderly ways. The warm liquid pours down my throat, leaving a burning sensation when all outside is freezing. My hand is held and I am wrapped in strong and safe arms. I just had the realization that the skies mirrored what I once called love.
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.
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.
Did they ever deserve what you gave or did they just receive because you did not know the value of your own worth? Had they known, like you, would things have stayed the same or would something else have been brought forth? To trade or to gift, did you know the best techniques? Or had you worked hard to, in their minds, being forth a shift?
Were you ever able to show what they truly meant for you? Did they know of the places to touch that would, in your core, strike true? Perhaps they could prove to you that all you’d love for you they’d do.