You said.

Earlier today I thought my words were broken.  Broken, or so rigid they could not form to the smooth curves of the knowing I want to express.  Since I was little I’ve gone through phases of deep despair and frustration over the frailty and imperfection of words in the face of my experience. Today I heard the teachers I needed and remembered: words can’t break.  Only we break our own vows and commitments – so understandably – in the face of all our human perils: distraction, avoidance, stubbornness, fear.

I’m building a mountain of trust, stone by stone.  Learning to get out of my own way.  Learning to listen.

I asked for help tonight.

You said.

You can dance too.
(And I can hardly sleep for the knowing of it.)

You forgot, didn’t you?

There is no way to break me. I cannot go wrong or do badly.
When will you believe me? I cannot shake you – your vice its too tight.

This is the time. Now. Here. Be with me.
Don’t be afraid. I love you as a  nightengale slipped from its nest. You who knows no boundaries or reason.

This picture you have is imperfect. Leave me to fill it.

You have the most glorious spirit I’ve ever created. You. Yes you. There is none other.

The typing is done by the fingers not the mind-vice.
The fingers have their own agenda that can listen beyond all your thoughts.
Listen like your fingers.
There will never be another reason to doubt, though you will.  Your fear is too strong.
But only because you create it each day.

The fingers typing is the poetry you are wanting.

Welcome yourself to the seat you’ve made and thank your Self for it.  Made of sticks and bones and paper and blood.  These you discarded and are now your throne.

You are so full of magic it cannot be expressed, only experienced.

Don’t go again.
Know that you can recognize me always.
I am your teacher and lover and friend and end to your loneliness. All those tragedies of human form.

Be this knowing.  The world needs you.
Has your recognition failed you yet?

Shelters come in forms that waves punish.
Bees dive for nectar in all the wrong places, most of the time.
You are another soldier.
I trust you to do it perfectly, because you are me.
We are.

Begin again.
Show the light to itself.
Go forward in the uncanny notions and step back from the dainty or cautious step.
Will is the movement.
Action comes from within.

dreamless sleeping

I’m feeling acutely
the difference between responding to my life
and being the choreographer of it

how having no invitation or opportunity to dream
takes its subtle but steady toll
I’m writing and the words stop
start stop
(sigh)
going fuzzy and lethargic
till not even a good night’s sleep renews me

cue my will
that force who takes me swimming against the current
or at least has me grab a branch in this rushing river
rushing toward the waterfall of the familiar

cue my wisdom
who steady as the moon cycles light and pulls my tides
reminding me this morning
to do the thing I’ve been avoiding

this risk of unpleasantness
and fear of learning
(read: doing things badly)
cloaked in kindness
opalescent
stealing through the night
blocking the moon

I want my breath back.