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subscribeMonday, September 3
I feel intense and cumulative, additive, expanded but not expansive. I am the frayed black t-shirt you love, a child connecting to a new touch, an adult stretching, excited (like a child) about new possibilities.
I feel like I might explode. My heart strains toward the thunder and rain coming from the coffee house window. I think my soul might break. Any moment a new reality may penetrate the horizon and flood me with a torrent of novel experience.
Reaching out, I know I can touch the rain. I am lucky, I am privileged. The rain is everyone and the rain is everywhere, connecting the mineral nitrogen in the earth to the photosynthetic plants (reaching for the missing sun).
The rain is clean. It is composed. It knows what it wants to be in the future, it knows where it is going (down, mostly, but sometimes sideways), and it knows why: to feed the earth, to fulfill and intensify all life on earth.
All that matters now is that it is raining. All that matters is that my mind wanders. All that matters is where I stand, what I touch, where I go. All that matters are the moments when you break free and touch the rain, alone or in my sight. The waves continue long after you leave the current. Remember how they move through you.
The forceful rain is now taking a turn, lilting upward towards the sky. I am not solid, not today. Something has changed. I am formless and nameless. Give me a name. Bridge an ideal and hold apart all perfection. Hold me and contain me. Tie me up, anchor me, feed me, or I may float away with the tiniest raindrop penetrating and extending the poetry in my soul.
I feel like I might explode. My heart strains toward the thunder and rain coming from the coffee house window. I think my soul might break. Any moment a new reality may penetrate the horizon and flood me with a torrent of novel experience.
Reaching out, I know I can touch the rain. I am lucky, I am privileged. The rain is everyone and the rain is everywhere, connecting the mineral nitrogen in the earth to the photosynthetic plants (reaching for the missing sun).
The rain is clean. It is composed. It knows what it wants to be in the future, it knows where it is going (down, mostly, but sometimes sideways), and it knows why: to feed the earth, to fulfill and intensify all life on earth.
All that matters now is that it is raining. All that matters is that my mind wanders. All that matters is where I stand, what I touch, where I go. All that matters are the moments when you break free and touch the rain, alone or in my sight. The waves continue long after you leave the current. Remember how they move through you.
The forceful rain is now taking a turn, lilting upward towards the sky. I am not solid, not today. Something has changed. I am formless and nameless. Give me a name. Bridge an ideal and hold apart all perfection. Hold me and contain me. Tie me up, anchor me, feed me, or I may float away with the tiniest raindrop penetrating and extending the poetry in my soul.
