There may be a day some time in the future when I no longer care about you. The familiar feeling of your embrace would be like a memory of a good book I’ve read, or a movie I’ve seen. Like a memory of my hand in David’s in the Azalea Garden, in June of 2007. So what if I remember the month and year, I am good with calendars, that’s all. It might have been May, too. When do the azaleas bloom? It was a Tuesday.
About you, I’ll remember there were Mondays. Continue reading “Mondays”
Here, I give you permission
to take space,
…as you connect in silence,
to be awkward,
to be wrong,
to be glorious.
Until you accept the permission, I give you orders.
When you retreat into the darkness, lock the doors, block the windows, make a home there, your senses get attuned to the darkness. You recognize the other darkness lurkers and hiders as your kind. Continue reading “How to Become the Light”
I am hungry for closeness, emotional and physical. I am hungry, but it’s OK. This is a lean time, a time to fast. I subsist on the breadcrumbs I pick here and there.
And here you show up with what appears like food. It smells nice. It looks nice. It’s so close, I can feel the warmth and can’t resist taking a bite: it’s tasty.
But I know it’s poison. And you know that, too. How can you not?
Offer love, trade in time
Say yes, accept yes only
Be the earth, be the fire, be the water
Be the magic
Close the door, shift the doorway
Close the accounts before travel