Together we become one; as we fearlessly bare ourselves to one another.
With no feelings of judgement or wandering thoughts to plague our minds.
We move through our energetic connection.
Eye to eye, mind to mind, body to body.
Both giving and receiving in a perfect divinely balanced, rhythmic expression of passionate intimacy.
I watch as my spirit floats above my body. Scattered into a million pieces that have transformed into a storm cloud of debris and ash.
It feels like I’ve swallowed an earthquake and I can’t stop the shaking inside.
I feel intense vibrations rise from my spine in an attempt to awaken my motionless heart, as I seek to find shelter.
Only there’s no place to hide from yourself. The destruction is after all of your own creation.
The quake begins to settle, just as the anticipation of the aftershock starts to build.
My body becomes tense fueled by my heightened sense of awareness.
I can hear whispering words of reassurance telling me that this is where I belong. Yet, it doesn’t feel that way at all.
I long for a home that only exists in my heart, but it’s now buried underneath the rubble.
I wonder if I’ll fall into the deep fissures that were formed when my world first imploded. Or perhaps I’ll just get to digging.
They say that God never gives you more than you can handle. So, I guess he’s testing the tension of my line.
I was hanging threadbare for quite some time, but my line has since snapped. And I’ve been in a slow motion free fall ever since.
Slow enough to contemplate all that was before, all that it became, and now how it will all end.
I keep falling and I can’t breathe.
I keep imagining myself a cat. A cat that’s on its 9th life. Wandering off into the woods to die to spare others the trauma of it all. I keep thinking about how much easier things would be for everyone if I was just a cat.
My light has left me in the dark, but perhaps that in itself is a blessing. At least I won’t see myself crash, shatter and then implode into the pavement.
I’m sad, angry, disappointed, tired, alone and broken. I’ve done all that I can possibly do. And all I have to show for it is a tired and worn out mind, body, and soul, that’s left to wonder…
what was the point of it all?
I spent years of my life trying desperately to fill the hollow space that echoed from within my soul.
I tried to quiet its cry with a beautiful home built for entertaining, with the cliche family portrait from our beach vacation hanging on the wall.
I tried to drown out the noise with a TV in every room, fancy jewelry, designer handbags, and a luxury car in the driveway.
I tried to shoot it, drink it, bake it, smoke it, paint it, decorate it, buy it, make it, and fake it away, but to no avail.
It wasn’t long before my soul became weak and weary from the weight of my heavy heart. Until finally, my legs buckled under the pressure and I was swallowed; engulfed by my own void.
As I awakened from my slumber my vision was now crystal clear. Before me appeared an illuminated path and the deafening echo disappeared.
And like a phoenix rising from the ashes. I left it all behind.
Freed from the void and ready to fly.
Thoughts hover like a storm cloud in my mind morphing into a tornado.
Decisions, obligations and responsibilities collide with fear, love, pain and joy causing my head to pound like thunder.
A whirlwind of questions strike my brain and shatter like wreckage being thrown through a window.
Where has the time gone? Have I done enough? Where should go from here? What should I do next? Where do I want to live? Can I trust them? What do I want? Am I good enough?
I search for the answers that are buried amongst the carnage and scattered debris. Attempting to put my life back together in the calm stillness that now ensues; in the aftermath of the storm.
My Own Prison
I lay here once again sucked into the vortex that keeps me pinned down in this room.
My mind wanders about offering an array of suggestions for my next move. Only, just as I begin to take action. My mind tosses about yet, another suggestion in effort to distract me from my goal of escaping.
It’s become apparent to me that there was never any good intentions behind these suggestions at all. As this was merely the motive of the malicious vortex’s whole existence.
False hope masked behind maniacal trickery to keep me locked inside. A form of hell really. Forcing me to stay planted exactly where I am; as the life is sucked right out of me.
When I’m finally able to break free from the shackles that bind me. The air becomes easier to breathe and I begin to slowly soften and unfold.
The rigor-mortis state of my body starts to lessen and I begin to bloom. My arms and legs stretch out like the petals of a daisy and my heart opens to greet the morning sun.
Awakening me to the person I was…prior to my involuntary incarceration.
The Non-Perishable Bag of Hope
Though my faith has yet to grow weary, the bag of hope I’ve been holding on to has become heavy and I am tired. Sweat drips from my brow and is fused with my tears. All the while, I am still here dragging it along.
The hope that is held within the bag has begun to shift and change form since I first filled it. Like that soft bag of brown sugar that’s been forgotten in the back of the pantry. The one that’s now been transformed into a brick so solid that it could be used to pave a driveway or break a window.
I’ve held on to this bag of hope for so long, that I’ve forgotten all that I put into it. Or even why I was hoping for it in the first place. Like the tattoo so many people chose to get on their 18th birthday. You know the one they had to have because, surely they would always want that barbed wire armband or that butterfly flying out of the crack of their ass. It surely seemed like a good idea at the time.
I think it’s time that I should sort through my bag of hope and take stock of all that I’ve put inside. Perhaps my bag of hope would become lighter if I chose to discard all of the expired and spoiled content I've been carrying inside.
Maybe some of the very things we’ve hoped for in the past were meant to expire all along. Could it be that the sole purpose of dragging this heavy bag of hope around for all of these years was merely a preparation of some kind? All in effort to increase my strength and stamina to provide me with the endurance that I’d need for the long road ahead?
I’m not sure of much anymore. However; what I do know is that after I purge all the hope I no longer need. All the hope that no longer serves my highest good, and all the hope that has lost its flavor and become molded from within this heavy bag. Whatever past hope still remains and whatever new hope is placed inside…
It will most definitely be NON-PERISHABLE.