When you said yes

i. 

I love the moments of silence that are here, 

the trebles and the wobbles, 

the tipped toes and the high brows, 

with the skin stretched over bones, 

over years 

like a cathedral – 

one brick at a time. 

ii. 

over there in the temple of flowers,

the leaves whip by in the wind

and soar into the tipped outline of feathered wings – 

they do this every day,

somewhat cheekily as they tickle by your ears

and ask, are you my tree?

iii. 

today your otherness is meeting the dawn,

all the other ness’s too –

your highness, your lowness, your softness, your hardness –

today they’re all awash with skin, fingers, eyes and lips. 

iv. 

the world looks fiery with the light of every human being 

in every way of being

why did you said yes,

to the possibilities and the drama?

v. 

You laugh and say, exactly. 

~*~

Sand

An Evening of Delights

It is the sound of a warm evening that is dying softly, 

notes that whisper across your skin, 

satin soft and silky. 

It is the evening of the smoothest whisky 

and a dance that kisses the skin alive

along the column of your neck,

it is the dance of half drunken kisses 

and more than real delight,

love, 

be naked for me tonight,

leave your woes

by the door,

for dawn,

she will come…

Sand

Deep appreciation

What does it feel like to let go? 

What does surrender feel like? 

What myth… am I over-riding right now? What strength am I calling upon? What winds… move through my hair, where have they been and what do they see? When the mountains rise from the ashes… and cities fall… and the cycle begins anew. 

What does being seen feel like? 

What does fear feel like? 

Do you know what latent fear feels like? Do you know what overt fear feels like? When is fear… intrusive… and when does fear feel normal? Letting go of so much. Letting go of everything. 

And yet… a part of me is still here… refusing to die. And… I would like death to be sweet. For the part that is afraid, that judges… to appreciate itself. 

Do you know what feeling too much feels like? 

When are you in another reality? 

Where are you? 

Would the world understand? Why should they? 

What parameters are you measuring? Are you still? Do they serve you? IF not… perhaps it’s time to re-orient yourself. To forgive yourself, realising… failure is nothing more than an experiment.

And so… half a year later, you realise, how funny, everything is. How constructed, how real, how sad, how hopeful, how optimistic and how beautiful. Duality is simply the understanding that everything is changeable, movable, shifting and all realities… are within you. 

This part of me is dying. It’s as though she is taking another breath… willing herself to live on… but I am in deep appreciation of her. I love her.

I am in deep appreciation of the places you’ve been, 

the depths you’ve seen and the tears you’ve shed. 

I am in deep appreciation of who you were, 

all that you held dear,

that which hurt the most 

once near to your heart, 

I am in deep appreciation… 

of the scars you cut across your skin, 

of the pills you swallowed at sixteen,

shame fit itself snugly then

 into the pockets of your jeans,

til the story wove itself a new beginning, 

I am in deep appreciation… 

for the relationships carving canyons…

for the ones taking the scent of Spring

echoing across the years,

blooming into barren places,

where was your voice?

lost? in the compass of the past?

be free

you kept trying to say,

and choked on the lump

that formed in your throat,

why do you unravel the threads

and discover the meaning of home?

laughter blooming from your heart,

you are,

the stars… wind… trees and birds, 

here,

I am in deep appreciation of the identities you wore,

the hats you cautiously put on,

from beneath

you looked up at the poems in the night sky,

You know?

I am in deep appreciation of your resilience, 

the way you mined rocks out of your sadness

eons deep in the earth,

I am in deep appreciation of the histories you keep

etched into your skin, 

eyes,

fathomless with the universe

twinkling back at me.

I am in deep appreciation of the women

riding on the backs of constellations,

Mothers and sisters,

Brothers and kindred souls,

I am in deep appreciation

of the love you showed me,

In your kindness 

your belief in me

shone the gift of gratitude,

the strength to be gentle

from your torch to mine 

this is a poem

in this world…

for the feminine 

rising.

Sand

Softness in the wilderness of surrender

(I don’t own this image. If you know who it belongs to, I’d love to credit them, or I’d be happy to take it down, otherwise.)

I

What is the magic that you hold to your chest?

In the thrums of your heart, beating its rhythm against your bones?

You are living poetry.

~

I don’t think the past is something you want to go lugging around… I don’t think the past wants to keep being dragged, mercilessly into the present, because I don’t think the dead want to crawl out of their graves to entertain your sorrows. They are only your sorrows because you’ve refused to let them go.

~

please… hold onto them as long as you like… treasure them as meticulously as the cranes you are folding… counting yourself to a thousand.

~

close your eyes and make a wish.

~

because you’ve spent half your life, making space for it, it’s time. time likes to flow as the seasons do – change – observe – mountains with clouds floating by, make good sceneries for zen poems… love poems… and soft kisses.

~

but now it’s time to love this soft human, warm blooded body of yours, because how long are you going to breath in this world through your skin and your magic? the one in your chest, beating its rhythm onto your bones. the thrum, steady thrum of this life of yours.

~

with time, even mountains change.

~*~

II

Sleep chases after me as I try to find words to fit into my heart, my mouth, words slipping out of the pores of my skin. Somehow, I cannot find them, I cannot contain them, I cannot morph them like a smithy cleverly sharpening her tools. I forgot… that because these are words, I cannot make them something else.

~*~

III

Surrender. She is a curious creature with a soft belly, a warm hide, basking in the delight of Summer’s heat and Springtime rain. Surrender… is like a river… flowing to the Sea… this is a metaphor… I love, that the Sea is a body, my body… your body… the Earth’s body… the depth, the deep, murmur of unconscious… wisdom… and also fear… the womb, the place of birth, creation… and the rivers… our veins, carrying our blood, carrying our death, our pollution… our waste… our healing? What do the rivers carry? What do they mean?

She said write… honestly… she said… examine your traumas, fears, wounds… face them… there is a healing…. in this kind of poetry… of letting it be.

~*~

IV

I stare at a blank page and wonder what words I can put across it, to soothe the restless, to invite the softness, now, the softness, of a beating heart, quietly rising chest like the maps of a well traversed terrain, breathing…

~

At what surrender feels like. these moments in time, these lessons in silence, in sound, the breath, is going home… sinking a little deeper. I remember the feeling of the cold stream on my feet, I remember the feeling of burning… and the coolness of the waterfall, soothing this earthly, fleshy carriage… vehicle… sanctuary… temple… I reside in. I remember what it felt like, to lay my heart bare, in whispers, in the heart of stillness, in the embodied invitation, words, inviting you back home.

~*~

V

Reading Rumi felt like my heart had been thirsty and I didn’t even know. Hearing the truth, seeing it in its squiggles, particular squiggles that my mind had been taught to coalesce into meaning… felt like the subtle hand of something else, beyond these walls, beyond the rationalism I mistook for over-thinking and judgement. I didn’t think I could believe in god… I don’t think I do, not God, layered with dogmatism and concepts too narrow and constrictive, to breath properly. But whatever this feeling is, whatever this feeling is, softness, surrender, movement, flow… joy, ecstasy… I could believe.

~*~

VI

You know, you are here. in this moment. take a look around… at all the beauty in your life… even the cracks… are blooming now, with sunlight and wild surrender. Wild, wild power. You know, when you follow those winding paths into the woods of your unconscious, you’re learning to take responsibility for the healing of your wounds… you think… but when you get deeper into the shadows, when they engulf you, swallow you whole, what do you realise? the joy of being. the truth of your experiences. the (w)hole of nothingness. the deep, deep pool of reflections, revealing your sharp teeth, dishevelled hair and sharp claws. the primality of that creature you see.

~*~

VII

feel her.

~*~

Sand

Letter to Sixteen: Dear Numbness, Dear Suicide, Dear Depression

Hey… N.S.D. … if you were a character, I’d give you black bangs along one side of your face… you would look pale to me… a little ghostly and gothic. All black and white with drooped devil may care shoulders.

You would have a little of the rebel in you… after all… that’s what you are… inadvertently… quietly in your own way, unable to fit in… deeply unwilling yet unconscious entirely about your unwillingness except for how sad you are, how numb… and how little you care. 

You’re stuck… forever in this late phase of adolescence… to me. You haven’t matured enough to know how beautiful the world can be… you haven’t experienced enough to know… what pain and suffering feel like… except in this little world of yours… with the colours turned way down… nothing feels good and nothing is good and nothing looks good… and nothing is nothing is nothing is nothing is nothing. 

Actually, you know, that’s what I love about you. You don’t care… and in your lax mischievousness, there’s no malicious intent… only a numb state of being. 

Except you chose that. You like it that way. Because when the colour returns… when the blood comes back… when all the feelings come back… it’s too much, when the sun kisses your cheeks warm… you won’t be able to hold back the tears. You won’t be able to hold the heaves in… you won’t be able to hold the cries in… you won’t be able to move through this world like a ghost… pale like a shadow… half here… because numbness is how you keep the pain out. 

Numbness. 

When you choose to feel numb… did you choose it because it was acceptable? That numbness was more acceptable than the messiness of feeling everything? 

I think… it’s better to feel everything… than to feel numb. And if everything is too much and you feel like suicide is your only recourse… I want you to love yourself. I want you to believe that you can teach yourself how to love. 

How to love. 

It’s easy to love all the good things in life. It’s easy… to love what others love about you… it’s easy… to confuse what is good and what is the opposite… it’s easy… to forget that love is really nothing but everything. Love is how you become real… and how you step onto the gentle winds of fate and let them sweep you halfway across the sky, following the stars to the center of the universe… love is nothing… but… everything. The emptiness between your sighs and the spaces between your words… the breathes in and the breaths out… the beginning and the ending… love is your favourite colour… and love is also… someone elses favourite colour. 

Love… is a metaphor for forgiveness. Love… is a metaphor for how the world became the world… and a metaphor for how we all died. Love is the absence of love… and the presence of knowing it because you couldn’t see it. Love was the heaves coming from your body… the sound of an angel singing you to life… the voice of an angel on the shores of fate. Every cliche and every rebel… began in the seeds planted… love is the only way it could’ve grown… could’ve bloomed… if the sun never kissed the earth… if the leaves never breathed… if the sea never washed us out… if the mothers never cared for their young… if fathers never protected, if the winds never whispered and the leaves never changed colour… if the world never spun and the stars never died… how could this human mind… fathom such a concept as love? 

Then… judgement is just… a confusion. Passion misplaced… thoughts… in disarray… and judgement… is the truth of living in a world that is dualistic. Judgement… is inescapable. Judgement is the result of freewill… of choice… of choosing one way of being over another… of choosing one way of thinking over another… of choosing one colour… over another… of choosing one race… over another… of choosing one place… over another… of choosing one person… over another… of choosing… because that’s the strangest dichotomy to exist. Choice. 

Judgement… is the presence of choice. 

Choice is dualistic… and freedom for chaos… is frightening. What do we know of chaos? What do I know of chaos? What do I know… of our histories and all unexamined truths? Is it possible… to live in a dualistic world and never choose? To live in a dualistic world and choose everything? To honour paradox may feel like an invitation to chaos. A departure from order. A departure from structure. A departure from the known. 

How could we not love the darkness equally? How could I not love the night sky… that has shown me the beauty of the stars? How could I not love the darkness… that has taught me to appreciate the beauty of the dawn? How could I not love the total darkness… that has taught me fear… and the beauty of the light falling through the trees? 

How could I not love the parts of me… struggling with this duality. How could I not love the parts of me… living this story as though I am it entirely… and not also the observer… the creator… and the character? 

How could I not love you… playing the embodiment of fear… so I could know courage? How could I not love you… playing the embodiment of cruelty… so I could know compassion… how could I not love you… playing the embodiment of pride… so I could know humility… how could I not love you… playing the embodiment of authority… so I could know my own. How could I not love you… playing humility… and yet… it is through the pain and the contrast, that I have learned the most. How could I not love you… playing compassion? Because I know cruelty, because I have played cruelty, I weep at your compassion. Because I have known fear… I value the strength it takes to be courageous… I value the sweat, blood and desires that were spilled in the knowing of this. I weep at your kindness… I smile at your candour… I smile at the truth, as naked to me as the stars in the sky. 

I have desires, and there are desires that have me. Everytime I feel this pinch, it’s the middle way I want to walk. I want there to be more happiness. To be more freedom for happiness. To be more freedom for love. To be more freedom for courage. Freedom for truth. Freedom for kindness. Freedom to love the darkness as well as the peachy things in life. To watch the duality unfold and sit back, laugh a little or a lot and enjoy the ride.

 Dear Sixteen,

You haven’t experienced nearly all the things you want to experience yet. There is wisdom in the adage, This too, shall pass. 

It’s good… to make friends with Numbness… with Depression… with Suicide… and like all things in life… to remember that change is the only constant, what goes up will come down… what rises will fall as well. 

Learn to commit to the ideas you find worthy. Learn to commit to what excites you… and not what someone else suggests is right and proper if it doesn’t make your heart sing… Learn to develop and hone the quality of Discernment. Discernment… is judgement refined. Learn to admire the beauty of where you are… experiencing this blend, this flavour of life. Learn to commit to walking this path you chose… because choose it, you did… and choosing it… was your choice. 

Sand

Spirituality – you are, and beauty

There is this curious worldview that you’ll come across the moment you begin to explore spirituality… that is… that we have souls… that we are spirit first before we are matter… material and flesh… and that… we chose what we wanted to explore in this particular lifetime. Perhaps not from the perspective we hold as these conscious beings. 

It’s the morning after an evening of conscious dancing. And… as I’m dropping into my yoga mat more fully today… I’m realising… going through my Brahmihavara practice… and all that I am grateful for… I realised this funny, funny, thought. Last night as the session came to a close and I sat down to meditate through the ending… I practiced gratitude for everyone I met on the dance floor, for what they brought, what they triggered… and all that made them the way they are, as what made me the way I am… and this thought shifted something in me: I am grateful that you chose to come here. I am grateful that you chose to be here. I am grateful that you came to experience this human world with its chaotic messiness. 

It moved something in me.

Even if there were times that I pulled away, that I struggled to connect… that I didn’t want to… or that our energy connected us in the dance with no eye contact… that our energy spoke volumes, or our energies smiled before we did… by the end of that session, I was grateful. None of it happened in linear order.

On my mat, moving through my Vinyasa flow… I could feel this internal dilemma, processing last night, this internal dilemma about how I was going to respond… react… and whether I still wanted to respond and react that way, and why? I couldn’t put quite put my finger on it, but the feeling of this shifting quality was vaguely palpable to my mind and my being. 

And then as I leaned into it… a variation of this thought cropped up again, on a deeper level… that everything that happens… that could possibly happen… operating with this worldview of spirituality… was something, everyone that is experiencing life including myself… as spirit, knew… and came anyway. 

Without a doubt, I cannot know that for sure… but the moment this worldview envelops me… I want to cry. Last night after I came home, I found myself going through the tags on this blogging platform… and I come across so many people writing sad poetry, writing angsty poetry, writing about their lives, about their traumas… about all that is painful. And I see that in me too. I see that in me and I feel tired now, I feel tired, adding my voice to that. I wanted to see something else. I went and read a YA novel. 

(It was my first re-experience of YA… now that I am no longer a teenager and haven’t been for quite some time… there were moments that I couldn’t stay in the plot, in the simplicity of it, in the unlikely characterisation and dialogue. No longer ensconced in the world of that audience… I recognised the escapism for what it was… for the underlying desires the author was catering to and catered to successfully… hope, determination… friendship, bonds.)

In the world outside of imagination and books, our emotions and our experiences are valid too… they are more than valid, they are real and powerful, I just wish… we were better at loving ourselves… that we will take our experiences and bring something beautiful to our lives for having experienced them. 

And a poet said, Speak to us of Beauty.

And he answered: 

Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? 

And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech? 

The aggrieved and the injured say, ‘Beauty is kind and gentle. ‘Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us.’

And the passionate say, ‘Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.

Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us.’

The tired and the weary say, ‘Beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.

Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow.’

But the restless say, ‘We have heard her shouting among the mountains,

And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions.’

At night the watchmen of the city say, ‘Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east.’

And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, ‘We have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset.’

In winter say the snow-bound, ’She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills.

And in the summer heat the reapers says, ‘We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair.’

All these things have you said of beauty,

Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,

And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy,

It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,

But rather a heart inflamed and a soul enchanted,

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, 

But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.

It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,

But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight. 

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.

But you are life and you are the veil.

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.

But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

Khalil Gibran

Sand

What do you love about life?

It’s how everything is one long chain of this moment, stretching and stretching and stretching. If you keep retreating after you fail at something… soon you’ll discover that you can only pull this moment so thin, like an elastic band pulled tight. You are taut and tense and uncomfortable with all the ideas bouncing around in your head that you don’t like. That clash with your view of the world. At the same time, you don’t want to put them out of your head, you don’t want to narrow the walls of your perspective, at the same time, you struggle to stay present and relaxed and loose and open. 

Life’s filled with paradigm shifts. If it’s making you uncomfortable… and you still feel like this idea has merit… then you either retreat, to protect your fragile sense of identity… or you collapse the old structures. Again. 

I keep wondering… when you’re going to figure it out, I keep wondering… when you’re going to decide enough is enough and stick to it with the heart, soul and passion of someone coming alive. Because, yes, I think you’re right, someone who is alive has no time to think about what other people think of them or their work. 

I also found this quote, today, tucked away amidst some of my writing,

“Everyone who works with love and with intelligence finds in the very sincerity of his love for nature and art a kind of armour against the opinions of other people.”

– attributed to Vincent Van Gogh

My friend wanted to know where I’d see myself in 10 years. I remember when I used to love asking this question. We had dinner together to celebrate his 26th. I sat next to the most gorgeous woman I’ve met in a while and she was absolutely delightful at conversation. I felt the joy of banter. Sheer innocence and fun. 

The truth is that I don’t think my younger self imagined my present self to be here, but I don’t think she had given it much thought. At 25, I have. But I told him, to ask me in 10 years and I’d tell him what goals my 25 year old self had. Mostly, I didn’t want to commit to verbalising them because things can change and I admit I waffle often at life. 

And as I came home, I wondered again, what were my goals? To build better daily habits? To make music… but to make art, not entertainment. I feel silly and sad for wanting this. I love being entertained… but I am not an entertainer. To being a better teacher? To commit more wholly and fully to the craft of music? To writing? To… being a better person? All of these things excite me. Along with a few others that are not career related in the slightest. 

To reading more life-changing books. To learning some martial arts – kung fu to be precise. To learning to read in Chinese, to learning Spanish. To learning another instrument. To keep dancing, solo and with others, to keep feeling into the flow of life. To keep meditating, doing yoga every morning… grounding into the present moment. To learn how to skydive solo. To go scuba-diving. To fall in love with a different world. To trek a desert. To hike those gorgeous mountains in China. That’s what I want. To get more tattoos. To slip away for months on end, every now and then. And there’s more, that only my heart would confess.

It was good, that he asked that 10 year question… because naturally, the following question would be… and what are you doing to manifest these? Because as he told me his dream, I knew that he needed to be another person, to manifest it… and… I know, I’d also have to be a different person to manifest mine. I wondered… how to reply to him… I hope… No… I’m sure you’ll get there. A sheepish smile passed over his face for a moment and he said thanks. 

Maybe I should’ve said, in 10 years I’d be trekking a desert… or climbing Huangshan Mountain. That makes me laugh. Maybe I’d be skydiving solo… or doing something else a little bit crazy.

Sand

Mid September Reflections

It’s raining today. Yesterday… I discovered… how egotistical I was before I took off to travel and experience a different slice of life…

how… really, ego was merely protecting me. And at this point, without the intensity of my ego that previously dominated my psyche… I feel more free. I feel less inclined… to be someone I’m not and more often… realise I am unconcerned… with how someone perceives me, though I perceive the value of first impressions and presentation.

the sweet acceptance of where i am… where i was… looking back, is incredibly warming. not that the journey is complete, it reminds me of hiking to machu picchu… the stops along the way… the lookout… the swing, arching over the edge, the expanse of green, surrounded by pachamama, it’s like that. the effort of getting there, is not about the final destination. the final destination never mattered as much as the journey. what does the final destination mean then? what would having a degree mean to me? 

in learning that endings are beginnings, it’s as though i can sense the one looming on the edge of my horizon, that’s where i’m going. 

i needed the time off. i’m glad.

perhaps, it was travelling, that brought in an understanding of how i am… and an integrated understanding of karma. as esoteric as it sounds, it works in a practical way. everything i judge, have learned to judge, will one day come around and teach me compassion the difficult way. it’s simpler, to let judgement go. 

what i was so afraid of. rejection? once, yes, deeply. now? now… i wonder why. why i ever took it so personally. why i ever wanted things that never made sense to me on a deeper level. conditioning. is the answer that comes. but also, deeper than conditioning, authenticity… i became authentic, in my pursuit of authenticity. 

this is the place to start, isn’t it? 

not in the literal death, but in the metaphoric and the symbolic.

where everything has been broken down. 

is the place to begin anew. 

this funny chokehold that i used to feel, is gone. this naive, foolish, sillyness… of trying to be someone i wasn’t, failing that and failing at being whoever i really was, a hangover from adolescence… has gone. in its place, seems to be the freedom i instinctively knew was mine as a child… conditioned out of, surrendered to the powers outside of myself… has returned. 

not in its naive iteration anymore… but in the truth and the reality of this world… in the paradox of knowing what is real and what is an illusion and that it’s all the same thing. in existing in realities that cross over and tickle at the edges and the seams of cultures and worldviews and models about life. 

about being here… breathing… a space between there and now, a space between the past and the present, like a venn diagram, i don’t recall ever being in this space, as though i jumped too fast from one stage to the next and missed this one. 

it’s the space we may inhabit at some point in our lives. it’s often a space nobody willingly goes. its liminality belies the comfort of the habitual. but it’s the space you find yourself in when life becomes intolerable in the way you experience it, it’s the place where all your inner strength and demons will surface if you have the courage to dissolve. everything that doesn’t matter, that cannot matter… that will not matter… will die. sometimes gaspingly furious for breath. surrender is never passive but active and always, terrifying… because surrender is the initiation into the unknown, of territory that you’re unfamiliar with. 

it’s pouring outside now. there’s something about this weather that’s tickling me, behind these glass windows where i’m warm… there is not much to frustrate me. 

Sand

Compassion

When it isn’t forgiveness, it is love. Loving the part of you that is hurt, that wants to withhold love, that wants to hurt back. Compassion is saying all those things, to the ghost of other people’s past selves. Compassion, is asking, will saying this, in reality, help my relationship with these people today? No. Then I will not say them. Why do I want to say them? Because I am hurt, I am re-experiencing my pain and I want them to know what their words and actions feel like. But today I do not choose to hurt with my blatant honesty over the past, because to hurt them, I must also continue to hurt myself. Compassion… nobody said, nobody told me, that compassion can be this, choosing to love, the part of you, that is hurt, in those moments when you cannot love those that hurt you, in those moments that you’re struggling with forgiveness again, compassion is love for the places that you are hurt.

Sand

Musings from May

All things shall pass. Time… doesn’t exist. Death is merely a return to ash, from where we came. Death… is a reminder… of life, that we are, have been, will be, again, in the rhythm and cycle of life, birth, death.

Today has been a strange day, yet curious. Often I seem to say this… “strange”, perhaps a word I fancy. I discovered the root of my neurosis. A fear of letting others in, even those who think highly of me, or well of me… that sooner or later… their good opinion of me, will fade to ash, like death… nothing is permanent… yet… to love, to love… you risk transience.

Yet… if you desire friendship, lovers, truth… the only place you can exist, is in the transience. The fading light… forgiveness. A willingness to embrace change. That every dawn of your life, holds in its warm embrace, the seeds of a new future. It doesn’t begin tomorrow. It begins the moment you wake up.

Start with what you know, acknowledge what you don’t know… realising, what you don’t know, could fill volumes. And trust that’s enough.

I have a curious desire… for friendships that mirror self-worth, expansion, mutual development and spiritual growth. I desire it. I have a desire… for lovers… worldly… experienced and introspective… and present. Filled with presence, reverence for beauty, women, life, joy. And all the gifts of this physical plane. Abundant in health, sharp of mind and powerful in non-competitive business. Handsome too, athletic. I have a desire, to be his equal in love. A man who both delights my mind and arouses my senses. Who honours my sensuality and sets me free in love. To delight his. Who worships all faces of the feminine. Who knows his worth… and honours all women. 

I have a deep desire… to honour friendships filled with growth, possibility… change… spirituality, friendships formed in the spirit of love, kinship, courage, passion, fiery magic. Friendships with intellectual mettle, that challenge me to grow, to continually expand, to never settle, to question…

Friendships, forged with love… friendships, deep like the sea… and transient. To love, always, is to call upon the winds of transience. To dance on the prairies… beneath the stars, naked and seen. I desire this. 

I have a deep desire, to forge my own path through life. As I am now. I have forgiven, everything. How beautiful, this moment is. Courage, is always, worthy of respect. To pick up discarded dreams, to dust yourself off, is to have chosen perseverance. I have forgiven everything, because nothing is worth holding onto, that creates shame. Nothing is unforgivable. Nothing… is unredeemable. 

Your apology, is enough. In the face of truth, I am the most resilient being I know. Malcolm. Ghandi. There are others. Victor Frankyl. I guess, that’s why his story was so powerful to me – it is the story of resilience and triumph, of the spirit. 

No matter who you are and where you find yourself, in this moment, when you choose to soften, to bloom, to accept, to expand… you have. The world exists in the palm of your hand… and you are a speck on the Earth. Do you see what a miracle you are? 

Life will find you, with its games, temptations… the path that leads the straightest, doesn’t exist. If you choose it, it’s already yours. The rest is merely falling into place. It takes physical intangible time. When you think and feel well of yourself, the world is your oyster. The world reflects you back. So, smile. 

Sand