heart, sleeve
and it’s always accidental, the discovery of light and hope and love in the midst of deep shadow. we want to be cooler than that, less trite, or at the very least, sharp-edged and angled, dressed in hard shells that cover our scars. we think that’s how to stay safe, how to survive, how to win. we think there’s an answer, when all the food is in the questions, hanging low and heavy with overripe nectar. if we’re lucky, one of them will drop just as we walk by, leaving splatters of wisdom on our long black cave of coat, and for a moment we’ll remember what it’s like to be alive (or at least we’ll forget what it’s like to be less than). the bloom is the destination and the growing is the map. have you ever seen what a tangle of thorn the rose tumbles from?
eventually it all falls down, rotten with seed and ancient mirror.
you must look
for the glimmer
of valor
.
.
.
September 22nd, 2015 at 8:43 am
This beautiful poem resonates with me today!
September 24th, 2015 at 10:05 am
All that struggle that is needed for that brief instant of bloom… and then the rose is gone… just like it is for us.
September 29th, 2015 at 11:34 am
Our need to feel safe is quite scary when you really look at it. We insulate ourselves and in doing so keep ourselves separated from so much. And that is not truly living. Birth comes with pain. Life has risk. And we will get hurt along the way – but that is living.