streams...

Maybe I'm tired.

Maybe I really cannot deal with the madness that others stir up,
Maybe I cannot hold my tongue further for sake of cohesion
Maybe I can't stand and watch the dementia take root
Maybe I can't breathe and this is getting too much to handle

and I am not there to deal with it, process it.
I am not here to fix it when I was made to deliver it just as it began healing
but the universe never allows a vacuum
and divine action is slow but sure
and we reap what we sow
- except when we reap our brothers and sister fields  -
and we are so full of empathy
and Hollowed of our caring
so soulful
 - having lost our souls

And he looked and saw the centuries before him, millennia of strife and bloodshed in his name
wars launched by his people against his people in a name he will in time possibly resent
and still
knowing he could give up at any time
sighed, and hung there
and...
 died

We see and are seen, do and are done to...

Corrine tired of his pain. She watched him, bent over the fire pit, his tongue between teeth. Grunts of effort absently escaped his lips as he tended the flame. It hurt to watch. She couldn't stop herself.
"One day, you're going to have to explain how you made this look so easy." Her eyes bulged, hand reaching for her chest. If she still had a pulse, she suspect it would be hammering. After some seconds of silence, the hope that he had somehow been aware of her presence died. _Wasn't death supposed to be paradise?_ not for the first time, she reached for him - only just holding her anger back as her hand passes through his form, wisps that reshaped on exit. A slight pause and shiver were her reward. It was going to be a _long_ afterlife.

Haiku for you...never in vain

you know I return
to those letters that you wrote,
and have a long cry

Our memories are so long for the injustices we did not commit; our eyes sharp for the errors we did not make

John sat at on his west facing verandah, gazing out at the mottled reds and blues of a dying sun. bathed in the trills and buzzes of the evening, he contemplated his 'solitude.' a low rumble of laughter escaped him. 

"I go catch myself talking to the trees and waitin' for answer one o dese fine days." another chuckle. rising from the well worn, sturdy wooden chair, he ambled into the house, favouring his left side. In the familiarity of his bare four walled, one room hut, he went to the far left corner. Gingerly kneeling, he re-kindled his firepit. Flame stoked, he placed the kettle on for his evening tea. reaching under a floorboard for his hidden sweet breads and tea bags, his eyes catch a flash of light. Turning to the source, he sees the pendant, suspended over his sleeping mat. He had not thought of Melissa for a long time. He looks up sharply, eyes darting to the doorway- it is, of course, empty. He silently chided himself. She would never be back here; indeed, she could never return anywhere. 

"It wasn' mi fault, but a coulda never your own." the kettle, a once shiny copper thing, starts to shuffle on it's fire perch. soot blackened, with a plastic nub for a handle it whistles lamely. John reached for his mug,  wrapping his right hand with a corner of his shirt to grip the kettle, he pours his cuppa. a teabag flows up as the water level in the mug rises. the water very slowly becomes coloured by the leaves - or by the dregs of previous cuppas - He has ceased to care. This was the last one she gave him, and though now more of a suggestion of, than the once strong peppermint, he sips with a sort of lazy reverence. He hated tea. She had always been the tea drinker. 

not to you, not for you, but maybe of you?...a

So deeply have i loved YOU
that there is little that can come
to usurp your place
as holder of my hand

So deeply have i loved YOU
that my erasure is secure
of course, it is pure
now an absolute thing

So deeply have i loved YOU
that i scarce see the point
of clinging to a half life
content without the whole

so deeply do i love YOU
that soon there will be
no reason for 'i' and 'me'
...after all...

were they ever really...

applicable?

indeed...

Surface thoughts as I breathe ...

I have never been one for comparison; you're doing a job, do it the best you can. that is it really, no depth of mantra or seeking to outshine another. Certainly awareness of the ways to an end result are best studied - one needn't re-invent a wheel to add it to another system - but this has never stopped me from going after or doing something with my perspective in mind (I take a moment here to say that this process is unrelated to when I choose to NOT engage in invention or innovation simply because what exists is sublime as is).
there is a lot I want to do and be, and a lot I have been and have done. has it all gone to plan? no. Has it hurt? most definitely. Yet i press. but it is hard.

It is hard to say "I want to be comforted" in the face of effort that, while not by any means small, does not total my best effort. I know in my mind that I try my best but there is always something that to varying degrees stops the undertaking from BEING the best I can do. how do I, knowing this, turn to someone and say "I am tired, I am broken, hold me together while I mend"? I do not. I hold the strain to me in the private recesses of myself. and while some have access to this place, I rarely allow for comfort in the face of my deeming myself unworthy.

It is hard to open myself to people. It is sort of a strange thing that, for someone who tries to be open with my desires, motivations, perspective, my reality, that I do not recover as readily from the rejection of negligent dismissal. I believe, like any other person I would be hurt if one simply rejects the counsel/gift/gesture, but would appreciate the honest turndown. We all want to feel valued and our insight worthwhile...but then there is the way of the non-confrontational passive aggressive, of exercisers of negligent dismissal: an act of rejection through accepting terms or promising to act on advice, with no intention of the action fitting more than the barest modicum of effort, and often just enough to make the failure seem not to stem from disinterest. you do no one favours by feigning investment in something.


I'd like to say I am determined to work on and heal "me" this year... but knowing me, I will shelve any personal project to help another be actualised. I can always get back to "me" ...after all, I am, to me, a hobby, not a passion.