Posted by Sherry Roit on Friday, July 17, 2015 Under: Personal
Sitting in the sun on 'our' bench letting thoughts stream. I wonder if I can come up with a blog post. I wonder if I can let go of some things and just be. Be free to feel. Oh, I feel, but to feel all the time without the baggage of thoughts -- specifically doubts!
Is feeling all the time too much? I don't really think so. It's the conditions we place on the feeling that fuck us up. Thinking too hard.
Does everything happen for a reason, is there a reason for everything? In the most literal sense --- yes. Even coincidence has its reasons.
Sometimes we simply cannot be content. Always looking for the 'other shoe to drop.' The price. The trade-off.
OH, to just BE.
I attain that at times. Specific moments. I think the 'secret' is being able to do that all the time, or at the least, ANY time.
'Be happy with what you have; don't lament what you don't have.'
There's an embrace that makes it all go away for me. I cannot have it all the time. I'll try harder to be content that I have it AT ALL.
Am I greedy? I want it more. Always. All the time. NEED IT.
Fluffy white creatures, occasionally sliced through by silver air sharks, laze across a blue canvass with a burning light at its zenith.
Hum of a ferry.
My flesh is heated, turns colors. Will it be red or brown, golden?
A breeze carries promise.
That may not be a ferry. Constant thrum. Soothing, somehow. Don't stop.
Giant bug eyes protect me from the laser glare.
I am glam.
I am no one.
Sitting on our bench, I am nearly too warm, but the breeze is cooler. I would move to shade, then again, would not.
Are you with me?
I'm always with you.
I am a whisper in the wind.
A touch of sun you smell on your skin.
The darkest night.
The moon that illuminates your path. A chill off the water. The wave.
I am the change in seasons.
The turning of the year.
The lover's touch, wet kiss, moist enclave. The bead of sweat above your lip.
You know me. Intimately. That craving at 2:17 a.m. that keeps you from sleep.
Dream. I am. I am free. I am yours.
I choose to be.
We are. I am.
Do you smell the world in my hair? Do you?
In : Personal
Tags: consciousness writing personal
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