Weave

Words paint themselves, the brush-strokes clear, fluid. In that reverie, there is remembrance. The heart wants what it wants.

The central feeling is intensely physical. The pull within to vanish and emerge right in front of your lover. The urgent need to hold them as close to your body as possible. The covers melt.

It’s electric. The moment skin touches another. The intense desire to be one.

In that regard, there is liberation. We liberate them to live life on their terms and come back to us, changed perhaps bruised. And we liberate ourselves by giving them the trust and space to take them to places where our own experiences might have failed us.

The more the pursuit of this inner motivation takes place, the more the gap between someone neutral and someone totally committed becomes. To the point where the commitment, and following results feel so otherworldly, that there’s disconnection between what’s normal for the neutral and the committed.

The bridge is gentle empathy. Yet, it’s hard to explain what drives this committed passion to someone in whom there is absence of a clear path. Oftentimes, it’s even practical. Yet, it’s this steadfast faith in one’s abilities and skills, that helps us nurture our dreams.

Within this, the soul struggles. When the struggle is over, healing has taken place.

The human self-spirit is designed to persevere, even when continuation is uncomfortable. The mind mutates, blown this way and that by spells of peace and misery, yet, it always wants to be still.

Yet, healing isn’t stillness or perseverance. It’s having the natural will to continue. It’s about having a why. The why is you. The relationship has to be so clear, that the will to continue is a natural outcome of what you have set your sights on.

Healing is the ability to put your sights on something else. Perhaps, your inner voice tells you that the story deserves another pursuit. That is healing too.

Healing is change. The ability to accept change and be comfortable in it, even welcome it. Finding continuity in that change, finding one’s rhythm.

I wonder if there is such a genuine comfort in one’s own skin — if the moon’s grace can be emulated in the human psyche. There’s no anxiousness in its movement, no sudden lowering of the eyes when it chances upon another. There is no sense of confrontation. The moon is, as it is, in its colours, in its solitude.

In its own space, pirouetting gently towards the other end of the stage. Between the stars there’s always it’s vaporous glint, foreshadowing it’s gleam as it reveals itself from under the clouds. There’s this sense of presence, of time that stays till. An ageless truth, warmed by the earth’s shifting tapestries.

media norms

so many

platforms to

pitch from

splinter sell

targeted

bar in mind

found a hole

to fill

make up

rich

wound

stitched

quiet

this mutiny

hooked you

with a

promise

of unity

as without

so withdraw

for answers

look within

you are

as you

are one

a dream

they’re all

like voice skipping

time jumping

each particle

a fingerprint

gently

nudges your skin

tracing a path

from your hand

to the moon

so late

at night

under warm

blankets

how my hand

curved and

held you

how you

pushed

yourself

into me

huddle

the raging sea

crashes

into the

winter bed

it’s just

you and

me

landlocked

light house

goddess

lunatic

love

i’ve forgotten