The macrocosm pieces of the microcosm of the whole. Or, a reflection. Or more- less, plus some- intangible extras. How does it all fit together? Yes that's what I'm trying to say. Relevant to myself- is the mere act of getting in a car an offense? I'm waking up on a timeline- a thundering river thrashing through, whereas before I was glued to my raft, could only see the walls. How much damage has been done to this Earth? Where am I, and who am I, really? Is getting in a car and showing up in a place that has no eyes to see me helpful? Is it better to live amongst the flowers and make no impact there?
I have questions, the same ones, and yet they take new forms, they gain gravity, they meander and they recreate themselves. I am surprised to find myself a beautiful woman, coming alive at just the right time. Grasping at handfuls of air. And other hands, searching, lonely. Trying to build or unbuild something. Collecting pieces of information and throwing them at a blank wall. We are collections, and yet we are pure, unadulterated presence. We are not of this world, and yet we are in it. We are vulnerable creatures, in need of love. We have access to all of it, now, and yet we sip from puddles- each others and those forgotten ones. Someone came to my well and memorized my lines, the shape and curve of me-
Then he quickly forgot- as the tides of me welled up and the waves threatened to grow. The clouds gathered in the once clear blue sky- reminding us of weather patterns. He was just someone I met, unexpectedly, as most stories begin.
Unraveling the handfuls of time. Unraveling the strings of bellowing beasts who prefer not to be tethered. How many times we tie and untie, trying to hold ourselves to the mast. But the ship is rocking and we have no control. Better to stand on the waves, remembering the breath at the center and not thinking we can conclude anything at all.
How many words leaping and thrusting from mouths. How many bodies born warm and riggling, perfect and forgotten already.
I know, none, I am one, I am whole, I am sea foam, I am beached whale, I am deep sea diver, I am home, at last, on the shores of my own soul. I am the deep insides, the empty pocket of beggars, the stolen moments of mothers, the last cigarette smoke break on an empty office block,
I am horrible, horrified human crying why, why me?
I am grateful, indulgent, superficial mess.
I am beautiful, untethered flying free.
I am words words, and hands,
I am you.
You are me.