I sleep well at night. It's the days that haunt me. Singular moments from my past. Lasting they did, not beyond the breath of a sentence, a statement, a bloodless dagger. Somehow, these moments resist the sandstone of time, to elbow, force their way forward, time and time again, tolling in my head as if a child demanding to be heard by an ignoring parent. The chorus of voices, each saying the same thing, in their own way. Drop your pretense. Be authentic. I wish the scythe more profound, but then again, the terror is in the equanimity of the assertions. The sickle of truth. Bloody days. That even decades ago, others could see what I still can't.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
bloodless daggers
I sleep well at night. It's the days that haunt me. Singular moments from my past. Lasting they did, not beyond the breath of a sentence, a statement, a bloodless dagger. Somehow, these moments resist the sandstone of time, to elbow, force their way forward, time and time again, tolling in my head as if a child demanding to be heard by an ignoring parent. The chorus of voices, each saying the same thing, in their own way. Drop your pretense. Be authentic. I wish the scythe more profound, but then again, the terror is in the equanimity of the assertions. The sickle of truth. Bloody days. That even decades ago, others could see what I still can't.
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8 comments:
I hear that every day, to some extent or another. I think WE keep saying it to ourselves, until our Egos fall by the wayside.
DROP YOUR PRETENSE/GUARD/MASK. BE AUTHENTIC. BE REAL.
No more hiding....
And that takes courage. In order to come out of hiding, you have to TRUST and BELIEVE. Believe in yourself enought that, no matter the 'feedback' from "out there", it doesn't negatively effect you.
More and more I'm beginning to define love as that state of being where you are totally seen - and accepted - and honored for that all that 'seeing' reveals.
F&*% romance and all that happy crap. To be really SEEN, and 'loved'? THAT'S the bomb, baby.
And yes...I've been drinking! LOL ;-)
Grace, half of my problem is knowing when I'm wearing my people pleasing facade. Although I know a few people that don't think I even have a people pleasing facade. :-D
If I had known you were drinking, I'd have stocked up on gummy bears and cleaned the shower. You really must tell me of these things ahead of time. ;-)
Compelling in the way that only candor can be, there is a collectedness to these revelations that speaks of compliance, of recognizing the steadfastness of those moments and it is somewhat reminiscent therefore of the serenity prayer, chanted wordlessly alongside the yearning for stronger voices from the coveted. Decibels rather than parameters. One can be so watchful of somethings that one hardly pays any attention to or is fearful of trusting the contrary when it is evidenced and the smallest, most minute corroborators place the pea in front of the world at exactly the angle and distance that makes the first eclipse the second. That may make sense to nobody but me and likewise be entirely based in misinterpretation. As always however your eloquence is truly something to behold.
Thank you my dear Sunshine. I often find others are unable to simply listen when I feel the need to be seen as I am. Instead, they want to advise or judge or talk about how their fish was bigger than my fish, which all misses the point. To be seen and accepted, as one is, without pretense or facade or anything else that creates separation between what is real and what is not, is a very, very powerful thing. Give me one friend who can do that and I will tell you I have all the friends I need.
Trée, the allure of writing is such an intoxicant. It allows us to reveal while still veiling the purity of its meaning or intent with our own flavor of ambiguity. We may even deceive ourselves into believing we have kept our secrets safe. We may use "words" as the masquerading mask, though we have entered the party page, starkly naked. The process teases both the masked and the one compelled to read the eyes, hiding. And the eyes, are always hungry when dressed in this manner.
Your readers drop their garb to a puddle when they offer up their thoughts here. They are only able to do that because you have, before them, dropped yours, unashamedly.
Essence touched, seen, and touching, seeing in exchange. It doesn't get any 'realer' than that.
S., I want to bath in your words, to feel them as close to my skin as I can, for my fingers to become as valleys and hills with the fragrance of your mind. Rose water, lavender, perhaps the essence of pure honey and just a spike of spearmint, warm but not hot, alluring as silk in a breeze, of lips on the lobe, of ear upon the plain of my chest. You take me places with the melodic flow of your verse, your prose, in ways beyond my ability to explain. I feel weak before you as before few others.
Candlelight to your bath, they are lit, each of them. This one here, it's of the scent of eucalyptus. It will open you to me, you will breathe me, in. And then there's this. This one is of linen. It's what I'll wear when not wearing you, so deeply on my skin.
Your bath water steams, as will the nights, and laden with sea salt, it's of all the days, I'll drench you in mine. The soap, I'll make by hand. Your spendings at its essence, and gathered with our milking, it will contain us. Each drop of glycerin will hold our tears.
This bath is embryonic, this bath is my womb. Enter it. You are as its fluid, flowing into me. This bath is of our words and, is of you now.
Bathe in me...
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