What if I cease the anxiety? Give a rest to the focus on the yet-to-be? Or quiet the cringe that grips me when I rework old stories?
What power can words have to capture where I am now trembling between substance and dissolution? Can I, through silence, give myself an instant of peace?
But the noise seems not to end.
I went with you when you talked about a place called nothingness. Colorless gray - non-existent, empty. That beyond what my senses allow, that is what is!
No timber bamboo clacking in warm Hawaiian breeze. No blood red skin glowing when I put my hand before the sunlight. No bite of salt air or crunch of soot black sand. Not even the crystalline sparkle caught in a single suspended drop of moisture at the tip of a single leaf hanging inches above my head.
None of it! Not even me, myself, standing here before this thundering surf. Not now and now not tonight sparkling pitch night sky hangs in a dome over my upturned eyes.
You have told me I have made this moment within the fluid of my own mind. It is nectar then! Let that be truth as well. Let me absorb the blaze of this dream and shine in on you!
Can you join me in this creation of my own imagining. A moment for you, too in an unsurpassed present that owes and obligates no one?
"How could anyone ever tell you, you were anything less than beautiful? How could anyone ever tell you, you were less than whole? How could anyone fail to notice that your loving is a miracle. How deeply you're connected to my soul."
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