Relinquishing

Try to visualize how big the universe is- can you see it?

Do you have the scope?

 

And that moment when you realize that the task you have just been set exceeds the bounds of your imagination- that submission to the impossibility of the Sisyphean?

Do you feel it? Have you manned the slope?

 

It is in that moment that you might understand it’s totality. And then, like me, all that will remain is the surrender of control to its unconditional being.

Have you learned it? Have you mined it’s hope?

 

I opened my arms as wide as they could go

Then imagined that I was throwing them even wider –

Wider than they could throw

I set about to gather the galaxy in their midst

But first I had to see the galaxy’s limits,

wrap my hands around it’s borders, and squeeze

them into the labyrinth of my ribs

 

I breathed out to remove the excess that would impede this feat;

Lungs and air excessive in the rift

that I had created to hold the universe within

And I should have understood at the end the same thing

I wish I had known at the beginning- 

That I could not see this galaxy’s limits.

 

So I stretched and stretched

and hoped to stumble upon its size within my mind

so I could then follow the map to its sides

When I realized I did not even know

the borders of my own mind

 

I could not touch the edges of my imagination. Yet beyond that lay the universe, HER own initiation, so I froze as it came to me that arms out wide, they lay short of reconciliation –

Are you living it?  Is this ship afloat?

 

Try again to visualize how big the universe is; try to understand that this cannot be achieved.

 

The impossible task was comprehending its very magnitude, understanding that I could not hope to reach it’s resolve; the moment when I finally let go. This is the only moment you need to understand why I closed my arms and accepted the vastness of the universe in loving you.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie

Transparent Markers

In relationships, where is the marker between ego and self respect?

In respect, where is the marker between ego and sense of self?

What do we know about sense of self? My sense of self shifts everyday, from its very foundation. I spend a lot of time oscillating between an understanding of my scope of self and then an understanding of how many of those parts are interacting on a daily basis. 

How many people are convinced that they haven’t looked deep enough into themselves? Like they haven’t peeled back the layers far enough and what they understand to be of self might very well have left a few layers unexplored. What if you’re only a talented liar when it comes to lies you tell yourself?

I’m convinced this is the case with a lot of people who harbor the fear of being hurt, or who have at some point or the other in their lives, decided against the long hard road of emotional unease, opting instead to pretend that something never mattered that much, never got deep enough to hurt them to distraction. That fear of vulnerability is an acceptance of self deception; a contract to lie to oneself for as long as necessary and maybe till the day they die, a bed of uncertainty made that will grow doubt and confusion for a significant portion of one’s life. It’s as simple as this – if I fear my hurt to the point where I am unwilling to feel it all the way through, I will throw up blocks with varying levels of dishonesty in order to build a solid enough labyrinth in my mind to prevent my access to the truth aka the pain. That labyrinth will only serve as the shaky foundation to my continued perception of my self and my values and my strength. This foundation will leave cracks wide enough for anxiety, self doubt, self loathing, and depression to seep in and find purchase. If one is susceptible to these things, at least.

Whenever the day comes that I then want to dig out, break down this house on its shaky foundation, I will find that it’s been welded with a variety of stuff I had no business gathering. Now the chaff and grain are identifying as self, now I identify as part chaff, now I’m doubting my worth. Now I’m doubting me. How does one go about untangling that? And how does the building’s demolition not feel like self destruction? How do you start from scratch when the scratch you’ve so far come to understand has been a lie?

Where is that marker exactly? Where is that sense of self?

Anyway, I’m a stone in this quarry, a sailor on this sea. I’m currently struggling with these questions. I’m on a constant search to find me.

Inspiration Journaling

Juggernaut

“The next time he sees me, he should look the other way, pretend he never met me one day in his sorry life. “

He looked up.

“Nooo, you don’t know. You haven’t seen. He’s different now. Calmer. The last time he saw me, he bowed when he greeted me, bowed! He’s seen things since then. Different roads- life has humbled him, you’ll see.”

She snorted.

“People like him aren’t humbled. The soonest they get a chance at recovery, they jump into their old bullshit, treating people like dirt because they believe they are better, deserve better. That’s how you know his circumstances may have changed but they haven’t changed him.

Life has halted him, not humbled him.

For humility, life would need to have taught him some lessons, ones he actually learned. But he didn’t come to be a student of life. He came to conquer it.”

Prose et Poesie

The Win

My hope for you today is that you recognise the win.

That when your continuous labour of love finally folds amidst your constant push – removes the occasional stumbling block and lets you stand a little straighter, you feel that relief;

My hope for you is that you breathe that moment, that the reprieve seeps in and reignites the hope within.

That the fear that barks around your ankles – urging you to venerate the strain we call the hustle, rolls over and plays dead to your victory lay.

That you take your moment when you have won;

do not bury the song.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie

Warrior, You Are

Do you know what a tough road it is?

Life,

I mean.

 

One truth is none of us do. In the manner that looking across a vast expanse cannot immediately tell us if the terrain will take a lot from us, or a little.

 

Sometimes, we grow by an oasis.

Sometimes, we are lost in a sea of sand.

The vehicles we all move through dictating

if we will crumble or stand strong.

 

We cannot know how tough this is.

Life,

I mean.

Not, surely, till we get to the end of the road.

 

What a warrior you are, Adventurer, facing the unknown.

Inspiration Prose et Poesie

A Shaky Breath

What is the sound of resolve?

A crackling

Fanned flames of frivolous hopes framing the doubt dressed in darkness?

The firewood of punctuated ululations severing ties that leave

you on your feet but do not feed you on your toes.

 

A scraping

Rubber licking asphalt one grain of hard-fought grey after the other?

Barren boots warring against the smattering of wet skin on

fiery hard packed ground

Toppling time and again because you knock yourself down as often as the world does.

 

Like nothing

Silence so absolute with a world not watching

Breath held, waiting interminably for the other shoe to drop

When you know you never intend to let go of the laces

you cling to; because you are in control.

 

Bet it looks like a shaky breath-

Arms crossing, folding into one’s chest

Mouth agape, teeth bared, eyes focused

Above the “insurmountable best”

 

And it feels like a reckoning

Like fear and faith, or fear alone

or an emptiness – a will wilted, but alive

Whispering secrets of your unmalleable core;

Bone to unshakeable bone.

Prose et Poesie

The Undertone

Mary stood on a stoop alone

Righteous and alone

Flawed and alone

Relying on precepts that wore her out

like stone on the more malleable stone

of her own resolve.

 

Mary stood on a stoop, tall

Soaring and tall

Flailing but tall

Afraid that her perch could not hold her weight

Afraid that she would fall

 

Mary stood on a stoop to shout

To clarify but shout

To defend and shout

No one else knew what Mary was about

Her perch was too tall –

“Why she yellin’ at us, for clout?”

 

Mary stood on a stoop to love

“How can you love from above?”

“How can you love from above?!”

You need to stand on your own two feet

to love.

How’s Mary gonna understand if she’s above?

 

Mary stood on a stoop to be heard

To be seen and heard

To be felt and heard

For years and years, she had cared so much

but couldn’t be heard

She’d whispered for love  but no one had cared

to whisper back

 

So Mary gave up her stoop forlorn

Aching at the scorn

Misunderstood and worn

Wondering why she’d ever been born if

it wasn’t to find a stoop of her own.

 

Prose et Poesie