Touch me again and let everyone
They are all only strangers.
Muted and fading into the background of
This incredible love story that hasn’t been
We’re a painting, frozen in longing, your hand on my back, mine on your thigh, both of us full of breath but unable to
Against my skin.
Move your hand around my waist and pull me nearer.
Let there be another touch, and another, and another.
Let there be a spectacle of love and lust and adoration and let them all
Sometimes I feel the comfort of routine,
and other times I see only the arrogance
of presuming to know,
moment to moment,
where I will be.
A moment later, he was gone and everyone was sad. No sadness as visible as my own, but all of us sharing the same breath as branches carry the same wind but sway in varying degrees. I am like the long narrow branch that overextended towards the summer sun and now looks as though it may not last the winter. The children are like the small greenwood branches deep in the undercarriage of the tree, sheltered from the turbulence of the air, too small to resist anything, too young to be brittle.
My King does not come riding on a dragon or a steed. He did not lift a single sword to make another bleed.
My king does not wear armor or prepare himself for war. He gave his body over to be marked by blood and gore.
My king was not too proud to fear, to beg a different course. But he, my king, died anyway, and yielded to the source.
My king does not need glory, nor sacrifice or fame. He gave the world a gift whether or not we know his name.
My king is not a dead man, is not a man at all. He is everything that came before and all that will befall.
My king is queen and she is him and he is you and me. His kingdom is within myself, though mortal eyes can’t see.
My king is every color skin and every tongue on earth. He passes through our world with every death and birth.
My king is someone I’ve always known, even when I hide. He’s rested in my soul, been patient as I lied
My king is dead and risen, today and every day. He lives again with every breath no matter what I say.
Show me the place
where the forest meets the lakeshore,
and all their differences reconcile in the rocks and sand that wed and divorce them simultaneously,
where the easy morning light creeps over them with equal tenderness
and leaves the shadowy depths of both lake and woodland to their secrets.
Shimmering surfaces, uninterrupted landscape, boundless horizon….
Show me the place
where rock meets sky and its clouds bend to kiss and soften the jagged edges of the reaching stone, where the diving wind carries nameless birds in patterned waves over the cliffs and swiftly, effortlessly climbs back up again.
Show me the place
where the hunted are free, where the stag does not flinch to hear my company, where solitude does not beget loneliness, and my breath is not stifled by buildings.
Show me this place.
Words seem to evaporate inside my head as soon as they are created and within moments after they are spoken. So I’m writing. To God. To myself. To the world. Hoping the ink in this pen will somehow endow my words with a power to break through the walls surrounding me and elicit an answer from the universe. From some higher stream of consciousness that knows better than I do now and can see the mess I’m in with perfect 20/20 hindsight and fucking guide me through. I’ve never felt so disconnected.
This isn’t a journal entry. This isn’t for self preservation. This is a prayer. A cry for help. I don’t want to talk or explain. I want answers from YOU, who already knows my heart, my story, my soul. Why are you leaving me in this chaos? I’m not learning or growing. I’m spinning my wheels and growing tired, and bitter, and losing faith. I need a god damned intervention, so show up. Please. Show up for me. Take any form, but for the love of all that is holy, can you not be subtle about it? I’m disconnected. I’m losing touch and won’t hear your whispers this time. My chaos is too loud.
The wind is howling outside but still I will crack the window so the spirits of nature can pass easily into my home. Find me waking, find me sleeping, alone or in company, just find me and help me. Show me the way and light my best path.
I remember as a child begging for signs like this in my darkest moments. I cannot remember the outcomes. Somehow I became a spiritual adult with a belief system so expansive, it is at times a limitless wonderland. Unless I’m desperate. When my heart is broken, I always feel forsaken and cannot hear or feel past the sadness or the anger. Why? When I need my faith the most, why am I unreachable? Please, find me here. I’m not meaning to hide. I’m not meaning to barricade myself inside walls of fear and despair. I invite you in. I forfeit my ego and my will to the best of my ability so that I may hear, see, and know my best path. Show me the next right thing.
I don’t remember falling. Did you ask me? Did I ask you? Or did we both just answer a calling. I remember when your eyes met mine. The first time. The last time. Time is interrupted. And I’m orbiting within the blue. Bathing in your kindness, your calmness, the life you’ve lived through. In those suspended moments, I’m alive. I haven’t just survived. I’m seen and I see. I’m loved and I love. I’m finally really arrived. In the present.
It’s a high place to fall from. From present to past. A bitter contrast. Thoughts move too fast, and I can’t attach any feelings. I’m lost in the cost of repairs, in the price of affairs, in the multiplying layers of confusion. Is it delusion? Do other people feel this conflicted? Maybe I’m addicted to the fire.
Can the ocean in your eyes hold me when I’m blazing? Can you see past the flames and stay gazing? My god that hue is amazing. Let me linger, before you look away, take your fingers, and touch me while I stay, in your waters. Let me love you here and now, let me kiss your furrowed brow and make you happy. Don’t look away. This is all we get. Don’t look away. This is almost perfect.
I finally decided to pray
Dear God I’m not okay
I’m listening and I’m looking for signs
I keep on cleaning, keep on cooking
But I’m blind
I see nothing divine
I keep on going through the motions, daily devotions of hope
Why can’t you just appear
And fucking guide me?
Everywhere I look is a reflection of my grief
Where is the reprieve from the heartache?
What is possibly left to break?
For my sake, for their sake, for fuck’s sake
Let me rest
I mean, you know what is best
Or do you?
Do you care or are you indifferent?
A complacent God, an omnipresent fraud
I’m still praying…
Change my mind
Show me kindness, heal my blindness
Let me know how the fuck to heal
I don’t want to feel
Can we make a holy deal?
My pain for – anything you say
I’ll pray every day
Dear God I’m not okay
You want the truth?
It’s streaming down my face
It’s hidden in transactions
Charges for therapy
Haircuts and makeup and new clothes
The truth is everything is temporary
Feelings stopped mattering a long time ago
And yet here I am
Grappling with loneliness
The truth is I’m dizzy
I’m completely and totally fine
Until I’m not
Staring at my phone, eyes moving frantically over the apps I have installed, looking for an escape from my anxiety, from fear. Is there a distraction I haven’t opened yet? Is there a horoscope reading to make sense of my feelings? Perhaps I’ll refresh Instagram. Maybe I’ll look through my own photos. No, that’s a trigger. I can’t shop, I know that. Hey, progress! I could message a friend. It’s late and even later where my cross Atlantic friends are. What curiosity could I satisfy with Google? Is it too late to start a book on the kindle app? Maybe I’ll watch the workout I’m going to do tomorrow.
No, no, no, no, no. I know better than this. This is just blue light. This is just confetti. This rectangle in my hand can not connect me to any answers. I know I have to meditate. And then, to sleep. The answer is in stillness and silence and focus. I will grow past this discomfort. I might grow past even my comfort, and I guess that will have to be ok, because I can’t stay here.