I feel the way I feel
because I feel the way I feel.
Because I am soft
and gentle,
because I am wild as the rain
and free as the sky.
But I am not free,
not really,
not in this world.
And that is surely
a tragic day
for the aspect of me
who knows she is unlimited.
What is this life
that drags me all the ways
through every shard of splintered glass?
I want to scream at the sun to stop!
Just for a moment,
stop.
Stop shining there.
I want only to wish on the moon
for peace,
oh for peace!
For peace,
indeed,
is a dream
to those who seek it
lifetimes long.
To rest a moment
beyond the race
is the blissful day.
To rest a moment.
To rest.
This moment.
Your truth is true
because you believe it.
And you must believe it
until you no longer do.
There is no quick way to birth a rose.
A rose must slowly
awaken
to beautiful
wide-open
life.
Wide-open-life.
It is a place that exists only
in the sky of us.
A neutral place,
where all are loved,
and all love
unconditionally.
Believe what you will.
Choose a side
if you will.
It is true for now.
It is true, only for now.
Until the rose opens.
Until the garden grows.
You think you are one thing.
You are not one thing.
You are the entire ocean.
Take your time,
be every drop.
A rose to meet the morning bright,
to grow in cheer,
to gather life.
Yet day to day
the rose does wither,
day to day the rose does wither,
lost
beneath the foggy dreary.
Lost.
Beneath.
How is a rose to gather
honey sweet
from deep blue trees?
How is a rose to grow
in the dark
of uncaring
life?
How is a rose to grow?
Some days,
even the days that are kind,
(and quite lovely)
feel a deeper shade
of aching life.
And you’ll never know why,
(at least, I never do)
but you might hope
(like me)
that one day the ache will settle
and you will no longer wish
(quite desperately)
for something more.
Or less
(I can never quite tell.)
What did the poets do,
you might ask yourself
(like I do)
and you’ll try desperately to forget
the ones who didn’t make it
all the way.
I will make it all the way,
(this I know)
because I choose life
even when the skies are grey.
For alchemy was the golden lake
of dreamers past.
And dreamers present fill the aching
(world)
with streams of sunshine
and honey milk days.
Shall I fill my own cup
and drink the nectar, sweet?
Shall I ask the golden lake
(of life)
to flow this way
and bring me home?
I’m home alone, tonight.
And when I say I’m home alone, I mean my children are here, my husband is not.
And when I say my husband is not, I mean I’ve been keeping a secret, and that secret is that for some weeks now, my husband has been my husband again. Married. All the way through, once more.
In other words, our year and a bit apart has come to a close.
We’ve decided to stay together.
When my heart woke and began to glow for everything and everyone, it became apparent that the love between me and my very own body-mind-heart-soul was the only love I’d ever truly need. And so why choose a new man who could never be perfect. Why not choose the same old lovely one, who I could work with, grow with, be with, knowing I am fully loved and beautifully cared for. Imperfect, he is. Just like his wildly creative, highly emotional wife.
This feeling that the sun shines from my heart: it’s shown me that no man will ever be perfect, no relationship completely shiny. As I lay alone all those many nights (often loving the single life, often really quite lonely, actually, and aching for the parts of our old life that were no longer available to my children in quite the same way) I wondered if the shine I sometimes saw in my eyes meant that I was home. And if so, was I now solid enough within my new found self to go back to my other home?
Home: the place my babies wouldn’t miss their Dad.
Home: the place that held me, knew me, loved me.
Home. To the guy I’d forgotten I loved so dearly.
Until I remembered, again.
I’m home now.
I’m home now.
Am I a good
and proper
human.
Yes.
No.
Life.
And then she roared again.
Just because.
All I know is my heart.
All I know
is when it stretches
and when it breaks,
the same words return
and return
and return:
I love you, anyway.
