Faded rumors lost in the deep. Never minding. No one else's soul mine to keep. No one to own. None to be owned by. All good. All good. All is had by those who will have it. No more secrets. No more silly games. In the light of the sun, the sun's day.
Fly on the window. The window on the world. Head in the clouds? Maybe. Maybe so. How to move it elsewhere? It is my head. I would find a place for it to rest. I would find a place that is the best for the one who rests and the one who provides the sanctuary. How to see it, after so many years of being blind? Might it be in front of me? Just beyond my sight? Might it be lost in the silkiness of the night? The duskiness of your voice makes me wish it were you. But I have fooled and been fooled enough to be filled with so much doubt that I have learned to take my peace among the leaves of trees and lines upon the page.
Must it always be a battle? Can I move past the challenge of controlling to be controlled? Let the hair go free. Comb it now in front of me. Walk slowly that I can see the beauty that flows from you. I will let that be enough. I will no longer try to wrest from someone that which they will not freely give. Who needs to steal beauty? Who can do it? The flowers share it freely. I am not a flower, but I can see the wonder within them. I can drink this glass of water and know that it unites me with all that has been or ever will be. Will you join me, can you, will you, join me in the dance?
This morning colors flowed onto the page. I loved them. I love every woman I have ever been with. Truly I do. I did not know how to stay with them. I did not know how to be what they wanted me to be. But still I loved them, even though some were kinder to my touch than others. Some caused passion to rise within me more readily than others. Some were sad at my leaving. Some were glad to see me go. I cannot judge this. I cannot read their minds. They cannot read mine. I have to trust that most of the time I have tried to be kind. At least now, at long last, when I feel awake most of the time.
Today I walked under a tree and brushed its leaves. I breathed the air as if for the first time. But, I know that all this can quickly turn to darkness, as soon as I become greedy for it. As soon as I try to crush it with the lie of ownership, it will wilt and fade. Best to enjoy the love in front of me. Even if it's only the fly that brushes my arm. In that brush I can feel the majesty of life itself come down to me.
Now, I look at the water glass and the bottom shines more brightly than the sun itself. Somehow the water takes the light and transforms it to make it into another element. Water, glass and sun. Me, air and the one. The one that lives within me. The one that has no name. The one that cannot be named. Let others try to name it. Let them waste their breath. Let them make the knowing into a test. Silly minds. Silly like mine can be at times. But not now. Right now. The bliss lives here. It cannot be touched by anyone else's darkness. The gates of others' hell have no power here. Mine are the fingers that reach out and bring the joy to me.
Listening to your voice, my dear singer. The voice of an angel come to me. Thank you. Thank you.
Seems like a dream as I hear the warmth in your song. If I find the love that lives in your song, I pray that I am strong enough to feel it bravely and without shame. Someone will have to help. Even thought the joy flows in me and is a private place there, I know that it is stronger with another. At least I hope that it is so. I have thought to find it. Let it go. Let it go. I will no longer drink, smoke, or chase it away. Still there is something broken within me. I seek the help of Doctors, I seek the help of the Earth Mother, let the sun shine. Let the clouds flow. Someday I hope to know that which moves them.
I have left as a fool, and been left as one too. There seems no answer to this dance. Each of us seems twisted in a rope of fate. I once thought I could give everything to another. I once thought someone could give me everything. Yet another veil, hiding the life and causing pain where none was needed. How to let this go?
I see many moving in the reflection of this window. Cars, people, moving, moving to their own rhythm. Do they want freedom from their sin? Who am I to judge it for them? Who can forgive them for doing something that they don't even know they have done? Better to look at the flowers.
Clear out of the window is the color purple. Many blossoms. Purple and more purple still. There is a faded daisy, but most of them are purple. Please hold to this and do not worry about sin, forgiveness, and pain. Time to dance. The birds know it. The flowers know it. Let us follow them. Someday they will fade. But today they bloom still.
Your voice dear singer has the power of life within it. Please let it celebrate and not mourn for something that may not exist. You need not own someone. You need not belong to someone. You have the power of the Mother within you. Share it. Lift us up. Lift us higher. Teach us to sing. Not to mourn.
If not my arms, the arms of someone who makes you laugh and can show you love will find you. Like me you must let go of the faded colors of old drapes. Let in the light. Cast out the night. But do not settle. Wait until the gift rises up to meet you. It may not come, but better to wait, better to risk flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, than to descend into Hades in perpetual search for Persephone. Life shor and live bright rather than in the shadow of eternal gray. Be the happy child. Be the one who leads us home. A voice such as yours has the power to create a path clear and shining.
A final moment of dreaming before I go. I feel my fingertips ignite, as they brush against your skin. They slide down your spine to find the crease between butt and thigh. Rising up again they tickle along your side, over your ribs to find a nipple and trace its tiny circle, caressing each tiny bump and silky bit of you. My lips follow the path blazed by fingertips. Finally, tongue finds its way to the place of honey and joy.
There was a time when I could act out my dream of love. It was a time of a little fear, a time, a brief time, when I was able to soar with smoke and not be consumed by it. I think that I can find it without the smoke today. I will continue looking. I will remember the feeling of loving, even if the remembering hurts, sometimes more than I can bear. Memory of love. Memory of lovemaking. Memory of pain and parting. Turn to love before me. Turn again, and again if necessary. How else to find the color purple and live again within the flower?