I feel like I am fulfilling my purpose, that the muses flow through my penstrokes. I wrote a book that I am proud of, run-on sentences, and all. To what extent or success or dustbin acclaim it may achieve- I know not. I know it the fullness to where my path is leading, except I am tired and looking for a home, a bed, a mouth to belong.
The Yucatán and then America. Again, being pulled to the places I don’t quite desire to roam. But that night we swam, arms and limbs covered brightly in momentary bioluminescence. Our skin moving green and white diamonds- illuminated only within the shadows. Awestruck and exhilarating. I dived from the small night tour boat. My feet hit the mushy mud lurking beneath the Black Lagoon’s warm waters. Reviled by the odd texture and unknown dirt clinging between my toes. Swimming with bacterium that sparkle yet disgusted by the dark firmament of the Earth’s surface.
My heart feels ripped off, has this whole year’s quest been a long-con betrayal?
We’re all somewhere between the gutter and the stars.
Yet this is just temporary, it always is. I feel so close to a breakthrough or is it an elaborate route to a breakdown?
My soul’s song echoes between paper and mouse clicked pages. Tappings of fingers on digital tablets. Digital hearts and eyes- who will really read or hear any of them? We never truly see the fullness of a heart or it’s intent even when a boy or is sitting in front of you pouring out his truth in plaintive prose and polished meter.
The great unfolding of water unto sand and rock- the original parchment. How many stories have never been told? I am thankful for this moment, for this sharing. It is better to have been than to have not. I ask for a great unfurling within me to cast away all doubts. There’s no ship like that which now, yet exists.
The angels of this world glide by freely on wings delicate feathers and prismed scales, cherished by the wind. They pluck intestines from bellies. Sea gulls drop shells upon rocks to seize inside the tiny oyster pleasures. Wings moving on the clouds of hooked billed wings and royal robed proboscis. We are angels and demons, both. These same thoughts in words, repeating. Life flows from each crack. The lights brightly beaming from our inner scars.
I felt extreme gratitude, sat night-hammocked between two Palm trees. The joke’s nit most Mr. Galifinakis. Maybe the true nature of the Universe is personified by the humble master’s chuckle at our seemingly weighty troubles.
We all make much over fucking nothing- of bills being paid, towels hung in certain rows, raking our loved ones over graceless coals.
Don’t the anxious thoughts seems silly, now, seated on this beach, watching the mother show her child pebbles in the sand? Maybe that is where the Universe is leading me- to all of us. Our greatest joys are found within the simple joys, feathers, hiking in mountains with dogs, making your baby laugh, sharing happy moments with your best friends and lovers. us.
We are ever forgetful that our treasure reside, surround around & inside of us. Everything physical, thought or evolution which has become manifest, is an elaborate way to say, “I love, you.”