My soul is breathing now. And we were made for this wonder. This is what we ache for. For our own unknown. I don’t remember what it was like not to feel literal vibrations in my body in response to words. Reckless sensation.
I keep coming to the castle to sit with it and feel its rosy, rich hands caress me. I sit in a warm bed of memories and I let the fingerless wanderers of my disconnect rub against my swollen heart to remove the sore spots and the old bruises and I always find something in the word home.
And I don’t need to fight to show you my power and my beauty. I should not have to convince you to love me.
This night must be a fuzzy dream. Some wild concoction of love that gurgled from underneath a pipedream. Somehow me and Josh and Kara and Bryan all ended up at Micheals…and no one was trying to talk over one another…no one was trying to prove anything or to purposefully be funny or to flirt…everyone was just there for each other. I forgot what it was like to be around people who actually know me and care about me and love me and know my story and want to be with me just so they can laugh with me…not so that they can make me hear their laugh. It feels SO good to have real human interaction. And when all the clouds clear and the dust fades…these are the people that will be with me. And these are the moments that matter. The dust will clear and all that will be left is love.
And we ARE inherently performing at all times…it is this inherent thing that is produced when some amount of mind is forced into a body that is both sensing and sensible…both seeing and visible…the juxtaposition and the context forces our faces into certain shapes and modes of expression that tell their own stories and speak their own monologues…but that is what remains beautiful. We can laugh when we recognize the jokes we tell ourselves. And the performances we give come from profound places.
And I look at you on stage and I start to think that maybe you don’t exist. Are we all just dreams of dreams and creations of illusions? Our souls are getting sticky and I’m starting to see more of myself projected onto you that being embued for me. We are all just rolling into one another…welding and melding and sticking. And love is this divine meeting place where all our minds stick our heads out of holes in the ground and hold one perfect, harmonious note together. It’s music and it’s poetry. And I’m starting to think we are just houses for halls and halls of ideas and colors and concepts…creations and memories that’s the only thing that’s real. This flesh that is moving and contorting in front of me…with my perception of it…with its perception of me…with the face it is making at me and the long corridor that seeps down the pupil…this might be the illusion and the only solid things we have are the dreams we create. The images we dip our feet into and the constructs where we all align in the same reality of hard floors and neon lights. Our words float out of us like streams of floating strings and where are we but half past the place we were four second ago. We are in motion and we are living dreams and we are neither here nor there we are everywhere in everything our sliding souls pick up and generate. And the nuances and idiosyncracies of the ways in which we tell and retell our own unfinished stories. Memory is where we reside and you might just be a dream.
And is it better to see the strings pulling the curtains or just to be swept up in the theatrics of magic? I’m not sure…but I do think that if you can see the strings and yet STILL allow yourself to believe in the magic…that is the place where wisdom and beauty and faith live.
I don’t think I could ever be with someone who didn’t understand poetry. I mean it’s gutteral. On the deepest, most natural level it’s a level of “getting” that cannot be taught. Like abstract art. Like love sparks. It’s just there or its not. And poetry is the only language that makes any sense to me. I distinctly remember in January thinking “Thank god he’s brought poetry back into my life.”
And I hope you’re doing okay this month. With your dad and with everything. Of course I cannot say I will ever truly understand…no one ever can…but if you read this, know that someone out there supports you and is silently sending you love and grace and strength. If that’s what you need…I’m sending it to you. I wish I could give you a hug.
And thank you for trying. Thank you. I can see you again and you are such a fond friend to see. I can feel you and you are always you. And who you are is always beautiful and I thank you for allowing me to see you again for brief glowing moments of sapphire recollection.
Until love bleeds out of my heart…I will not rest within syntax or systematic submission. I love you always. Forever we said, forever we’ll remain in the place between here and there and the space between dream and dreamtime.