Random Muse
For many, creating art in various forms can be another modality of healing. I sometimes write words that occasionally make sense, and never rhyme. Poetry is defined as:"literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm" so I suppose some of what I write can be called that. Irrespective of into whatever category my words may fit, writing has been an integral part of my healing and path, and as such, I thought I'd share some of it here.
WHEN SHADOWS FALL, WE RISE
Let us be done now with thinking.
Let's slip into our hearts
to hear what they say
when we're free from the chatter
of how its supposed to be.
Free from fear that is not about what is
but about what has been
before now
before this.
When words were spoken
(that didn't account for magic)
and scars were formed
on flesh and soul
begging again now for healing.
When the future
now present
while likely dreamed of
was not yet even imagined.
.
Let us be done now with thinking.
Let's sink into our hearts
wherein lives the knowing
that release of what no longer serves
is the spark of souls in communion.
And 'destiny' in the form of a choice
heeds a silent, greater calling
heralded by the alignment of planets
and convergence of stars
(or nothing at all)
that will unravel mysteries
even as it creates them.
The path now danced upon
expanding us outside in
will bring us to our knees
while compelling us to rise.
THREE
Seeking solace from the silence
a foreshadowing of days to come
and (painful) memory of days past.
It keeps coming around, this
familiar (not) goodbye
that with it's tears,
helps me to rise.
In solitude I find my way
to the place where I remember;
trip, stumble, "fall - with grace."
Even when there's two, or one
always there is three
A me, a you, a her,
...infinity, and beyond.
So to see your dreams fulfilled
which are separate from my own
Again I will say this
familiar (not) goodbye.
ANGEL
Come find me.
I am here,
where I kiss the sun,
and burn with the moon.
Where I hear your feelings,
and dream your thoughts.
Waiting,
but never just, waiting.
(W)HOL(EL)Y LOVE
Wrapped in the hushed tones
of a love unable to give full voice
to what a mind knows
a heart feels.
Water color love
that waits without urgency
for the moment of its transition to
a bolder hue.
Patient and warm;
Love as a cashmere whisper,
is love none the less.
THE OTHER SIDE
If it can be said
that there exists an upside
to having SURVIVED
in a place of darkest black,
its that once you have returned to,
or for the first time finally LIVED,
in a place of brightest light
then even on the days
when you've only winter's sun
to illuminate your path
it is enough to sustain you
to fill you with warmth
and remind you that life
as you're living it now
is filled with BEAUTY,
and HOPE,
and LOVE.
SONG FOR JOHNNY
This isn't a song, and there's no one named Johnny, and this started out as something like automatic writing, in February, and its now the ass-end of April, and at some point most of the draft as it originally existed, was somehow automatically "unwritten"... Whatever it is, or was (not?) asks now to come out...
Johnny's song is; missing what you've never had, so you can't possibly miss it, except you do. It's (a) dream(s) that bend space, and time, to reach across ages, and reunite souls; sort of.
Johnny's song is, in moments, that which makes you (not sad) cry for the intensity of the everything that rushes past you, around you, through you, like the coldest winter's air. Except it's everything that couldn't possibly ever be cold... It elicits tears of release, and confusion, of wondering why, and what are you supposed to do with the everything that was supposed to be not really anything, or not at all. It is the grey of every question you've ever had, washed away by the sublime peace of knowing that the questions don't matter because sometimes things just, are.
Johnny's song is an "of course I love you" because to think I don't would be to imply that there is a way I could, not - when the crossing of stars, and connecting of planets, deemed it to be so.
Without understanding of what it is now, or attachment to what it ultimately may be, it is being first drawn in by timbre of an unknown voice, unexpectedly become familiar - love's song. It is strength, and confidence, and gentle vulnerability. Complex in its simplicity. Borne of all that is beauty, and light. If time has a beginning, it was then that this song began, the score for a first meeting of (souls?)
I still don't know what it's meant exactly to say, this Song for Johnny. Or why the night was without rest, as they fed me lines I summarily rejected, once figurative pen, half asleep, met paper. If they want it different then they shouldn't have unwritten it the first time around. And maybe they is just me, who visits only in heightened states of (emotion.) Or maybe it's something more.
And while I will never tire of Johnny's Song, it's time to stop writing (this) and launch it into the ether so I stop looking over my shoulder at it. Maybe then my muse, with her ridiculous randomness, will have enough space to conjure something new.