Here you can call the shadow your brother
And the light your distant friend
But there is no
Other
Companion closer than your skin
Your heart
Your mind
And the silence that curves between
The length of  your breaths

Rain

Today all I can feel is the phantom presence of rain. The air is colder, cleaner and I'm waiting for it to come. I'll watch it through the window and as always, try to work up the nerve to just run out there and let it drown me out completely. Sometimes I feel all that I am is ink, blood and water. All I need is the rain to deconstruct me, wash me away.

Weariness

I am tangled between frailty and falling. My nights feel chopped and unfulfilled. My sleep is fragile, suspended in cobwebs, easily ripped and left to the flight of the wind. I think…I’m forgetting how to dream. I’ve forgotten how to close my eyes and wander.  Words cling to me and I shove them off. They anger me, the frighten me...I don't want to disappoint them.  I need time to rest, I need time to think. But everything is just so disjointed. I barely know if this is the beginning of something or the end. It’s all such chaos.

And then I think about chaos, and I see fire and rock. I see the formation of something beautiful within the disorder. And I’m squinting, trying to stay focused, trying to keep this image within me. My eyes are weary. I’m just so tired.

Knots

I stare at them and wonder if this is symmetry. How can they fold into themselves that way? What does it mean? Sometimes I want to untie them, slowly unfurl what they are until I reach the center. I want to know what it is they try to hide.

I'm afraid of what I'll find.

Maybe it's a whole new way to see myself. Maybe right now I'm like that knot and I need to unravel myself, I need to expose what's hidden inside.

How does one begin the act of exposure? How do you cope with the vunerability of being seen?

It's a cloudy Tuesday morning and I'm bending and twisting myself until all you see is the intricate outline. There's something delicate inside. I'm afraid to let it be shown.

Creativity

There are times when I wake up and my heart sings. And it becomes this great pulsing desire to build something beautiful. It shines and I shine and I want to do something...meaningful. And so I write. Because it's a medium that my heart understands. And because it gives me great pleasure spilling words onto paper or screen. I don't regret what I write. Not often. Though there are times I blush or wonder, what made me write those things? But I love each creation. And I hope, in my heart of hearts, that it loves me.

For the past two mornings I've woken and my body has been aching to write and I see words in my head and I hear their voice in my soul and I want to let them go. This is how I know I'm ready to create again. Because something like that can't be forced. I never know what it is I will write. I don't even know if it will be deemed good by anyone who bothers to read. But it came from me. And I am what it is. An expression, deep, melancholy, thoughtful, joyful, sad, intuitive, sensitive, beautiful. And I accept each word as its own right to be.

Edge

So you're standing there right? Along the the balcony, right along where the fence forms. It is foggy out. You can barely see the building across from you. But you're not afraid. You won't run inside. You're standing there. You're still. The wind is sweeping. And even though you're not moving and inch you feel as if you're flying. It's powerful, this feeling. You close your eyes. The wind whips back and forth, you feel your body sway with it. It sweeps through your clothes. It feels like it's moving through you. You take a minute to inhale this deep, strong fulfilling breath. You let it out and it flies away. For a second, you think, chaos but you see order in its freedom.

Here near the edge you can piece together the puzzle of this world.

Just...Breathe.

You know, I've been told breathing helps. During moments like these I've been told it's important to remember your breaths, to remember where they orginate, to follow them out and back in. It's suppose to be relaxing. So I breathe in, note that it feels as if a ball of air is trapped between my chest, warm as if its been through fire. It throbs. I hold it. I breathe out. I find the escape sweet. I can feel my heart. I can feel my lungs expand and contract. I'm wonder if this is the physical sensation of "calm". I quickly toss it from my mind. I focus back to breathing.

I want to imagine that my breaths are shells, closed  and swimming inside the space of my lungs until they are released and they open and within them are pearls and each of those beautiful pearls are something I've let go. Something I've given back to the world. I'd like to think that I've made something beautiful for once.

I'm breathing. The thoughts are dulling, I feel my body growing still. Is this it? Is this the way we are meant to be?

This helps. This helps.