because i’m already falling, because i’ve already fallen. because i’m there and i’m here and i’m dissolving into space, this spacious pathway through my soul to the hole in my whole. to the light inside my lungs, to the open hearted surgery i am playing with fire. i am absolute love. i am starting to start. at last. at last. at least. at the very least i’ll be alive. i will have existed with my existence feet and the feat of being a featureless program of progress and dis-robed disproprortionate precious air. air filling the tops of my toes and the bottom of my love and the long drops from great wide heights. and now it feels good just to exist. and now it feels good just to feel my fingers lacing themselves through the lust of life. to life to life to live breathlessly on the edge of visible space.

Today I wandered through wonder for what turned an afternoon into an eternity. I stepped and slandered and swallowed my footsteps as they slid silently across the grass. There was silence everywhere. Pastels and perfection and a painting of something being born. There was spring and air and breathlessness wandering amongst the trees. Violent pinks and serpentine whites dotting and dashing the lolling hills and rolling streams. The little places where place became sunlight and where roots met redemption. Every aching crag and creak within the branches and that barks were being born again. 

I wandered and willowed and waded until I came upon a lonely chair sitting amongst a pile of violets, pinks and subtle bluebells. Everything was ringing. And then everything was silent. And then I saw it all in a flash- our whole lives written out under the ferocious blue. I was me and you were you and we had done everything all out of order and all with chaos on the brim of our hats. 

There’s a place waiting for us named Timelessness. We’ll do it all. We’ll see it all. We’ll see the scope of the world. We’ll see subtle hues dancing across the sky in all patterns and arrangements. We’ll see our bodies transform and transmorph and get thick with rings of trees on them. We’ll hold Bryan’s new born children in our soft, coddling hands and your parents will become an ancient and wonderful character in my life. We’ll smile at Josh’s masterpieces and we’ll climb mountains we don’t even know the name of yet. We’ll listen and linger too long in the twilight, miss meetings and make acquaintances in strange and hidden cities. We’ll spit out terrible tastes that have stung the backs of our throats and we’ll decorate rooms with strange and sublime furnishings. 

And it won’t be like anything they say. And it won’t be like anyone else’s. And it won’t have any meaning except for ours. And it will be wild and untempered and beyond language. And it will roll around in the dark and shout freely through the streets. It will be our love and it’s purpose will be to create. To create magic. To create children who will be bathed in the glow of this overwhelming flow of love and through that love they will blossom like burning stars.

My heart is in my breath and I’m heaving. I can’t even blink without remembering the size of our catastrophic love. 

We are growing so that we can glow together. We are shining out our splendid parts so that our shadows will sweeten one anothers, our gradients will engorge our radiance, and our little me’s will become a ‘we’ so tangible and true that it will become an ‘ours’. 

 

I got scared shitless today for the first time. Thinking what if I lose myself completely. What if after 7 months I don’t remember even the slightest vestige of what it was to be me. I’m so good at forgetting, forgetting wholly and committing wholly. Maybe that’ll be ok. Maybe I’ll never actually be able to get that far off. 

here’s a memory i remember. i remember existing. i remember persisting. breathing with every breath as if those breaths filled my cells with something other than certainty that i was all in one place. i remember cataclysms of sound and surreptitious surrenders to the echo of my own soundbox chattering away in the night. i remember stories that slithered through the air like wax and wine and bundles and trundles of twine entwining our sacred swirling airframes. i remember remembering myself…looking at myself reflected on pages of books and pictures, suddenly distorted from one dimension to another without seemingly having lost a trace of the outline of my face. i remember than seemingly the echo of my features could exist in more than one every place- in fact, all at once in all over the everything. i remember the nights swallowed by the impenetrable love of silence- so much so that we wallowed in them, waded deep into the territory of our delicate dreams and layed there unconscious for hours upon end just wiggling our fingers trying to find the edge of consciousness. i remember that. but i don’t remember the dreams themselves, just the feeling that i was no longer me in exactly the same shape- all things were creamier, slightly out of focus and just beyond my reach. all dreams were dreaming me and i was subject to their whims and fancies. fancies or fantasies? i don’t want to tell the story of my dreams, for i can’t remember them. i want to tell the story of my wide awake, bright eyed, burning alive dreamings- the ones that infiltrated me mid-sentence, mid-morning, mid-breath every time i took a step. the burning layers of reality that broke me open and tore me through the atmosphere at every unbearable afterthought of the dreaming. i want to tell the story of my lucid dream awakestate which was ever present in the wild presence of my precious personhood. then maybe i can dream myself back to myself.

but where-ever have i gone to and how ever will i get back?

and this was my name. and this was my face, or something that looked like my face. and this was my desire to write. the huge hulking catastrophic urge at the center of my center crying out, clawing out, scratching out the surface and clinging to the crutch of my life.

 

i remember. i remember being a me, but i don’t remember my name. i remember long swaths of sunlight dripping over the tendrils of my skin. i remember soothing sounds of ‘yes you are’ and ‘yes you will be.’ i remember you, your little face all wrapped up around my eyes. i remember this reoccuring dream where i was falling, and falling limply in a white satin sash of something floating.

 at what point do i turn human and at what point am i a me of a me of a me? or a rememberance of a feeling of a floating shape of a me? or at what point do i become so much a part of the roots of this tree that i cease to be a fragment named me and i turn into the truth of treebark and black and white flashes of the cloud’s memories? at what point am i falling and at what point am i gaining on time? running my fingers through the map of my mind? through the labyrinth of age and agelessness. the point where time meets truth meets me meets all the surfaces i have and have not yet touched. at what point am i writing and at what point am i reading the remnants of my last thought thinkings? where does the light flash into my eyes and from whence did it come, did it come back, did it race through the atmosphere to reach me? or am i reaching, branches, leaves and all towards the photosyntheses, the synthesis of my matter to my motion to my meaning to my mind? at what point are my sense sensations trying to subdue the source of my solidarity?

 

the truth is that i lost myself. i do not mean this in any poetic way, i mean this honestly and truly. the truth is that i forgot completely who i was. i sat staring into the sun for so long that i eventually began to sing her song. it didn’t happen in a day and it didn’t happen in a moment, but a series of moments strung together, tied around the rope of a melody of a chunk, or rather, a secret trunk of time.

then all my memories touched me again, breathed into me like water and fell into molasses momentum as they saw their empty beds and silently fled. no memories to speak of. this is a special case. this is not a case for conundrums and critiques and 

 

i’m here in therapy. standing before you on stage. because i want someone to tell me what happened to me. no, that’s not quite right, that’s not quite it. i want to tell you what happened to me. but i can’t say it. i can’t speak it. but maybe through singing it with sounds the syllables will begin to form themselves, dust themselves off and drearily dream themselves into a verse or two you can make sense of. i’m here because i want to make sense of the senseless. no that’s not it. i want to bring nonsense into to serene serreptitious surrender we have all abated ourselves to. i want to make madness of the motion of modernity and i want to split the atom in two, then three, then four-thousand parts…tear it apart so wholly that we can see the whole and the hole right in the middle…then put it back together so you can see it. so you can see it. so you can hear it. taste it. drink my nonsense into your cells and let it jump start your soul back into oblivion. i’m here because i want to remember. no, it’s not about me. i’m here because i want you to remember. i’m writing to get out of myself. i’m writing to give myself back to myself. to put myself back together again so that i can give it to you, so that you can hear yourself through me, so that we can swallow ourselves back into existence and then begin again. 

begin because we have things worth fixing. we have lives worth saving. but no that’s not it either, is it? we can’t save it, we can’t stop this momentum, this gravity clutch clawing us towards our own santimonious soul-lessness.

i’m here to bring back magic. not hocus pocus, not lack of focus, not sideways glances at the moon, not fire and brimstone and the signs of lost sentience. but mystery and mayhem and fire and passion. blood soaked beginnings and burning white births of beauty. people living with something to live for. people no longer pacing the streets, sullen and stagnant and surrendered, but flying and floating and flapping their backpack wings at the call of the clouds. people no longer talking in whispers in curtained corridors and dreary dinner parties but shouting and squealing with all that is sound- i am here.

then comes faith, flying around a temple of time.

 

i’d like to say, to the wind, at last, at least, at every living edge of my spiney membrane- i am here. i am present in this ineffable presence. i am perfect, i am round i am weary of worrying about whether or not i am shaped by the weather or the weathering of my own brain against my bones- the curved collection of my skull on display through the ridges and ropes and arrows of my hair meeting my forehead. through the skin that sings with sentiments and sensuous slitherings. through the lenses and languages that lace around my eyes. through the communion of my mouth to my mind through the great whispering wonder of my windpipes clattering against my voicebox. it’s today. it’s now. it’s never nearer than always. i’d like to say…come ALIVE. 

because this is the earth yearning for the birth of many men and many children and all the kings and all the kings men and a seven thousand silver streamed moonlight militia. and all the aptives of corroded country streets and sounds of zounds of salamanders and pinks and purples and the whole day’s mouth zooming into your volition. your vestibule of vernacular and voracious appetites. she is brown a nd bottled and chaming and charmed and magnetic and pulsing, buzzing like a burning butterfly, bumblebee imagination and fliting and fluttering and grounded and greased and growing and aing like rain like wine like french truths and timeless effots. like all thebards infinite, timeless truths tracking me trough time, finding me through the future. let’s give magic. let’s make magic. let’s breathe truth into our veins and out of our bodies like little violet chapels of changeling choruses and chords of corruption and flow. let’s flow, shall we? let’s grow.

to be in the being of the life of the love. to be love. to be old and ancient and slippery and soothing. and then there was then. and then there was fire. there was force there was radiant and there was solid swelling sweetness.

so then the only quest is to be. to recognize what you are and say yes. to let all else fall away. to recognize that we are the universe breathing, and the full implication of what that means. it means let go. believe and let that belief carry you to wherever the wind wants to blow you. it means you are always, always, always doing exactly what you need to be doing in exactly the place you need to be doing it. not because of predestination…but because you are what you are what you are. it means give. give it away. whatever it is you’re holding on to. give it away. let yourself breathe. free.

“Nothing I say can explain to you Divine Love 

Yet all of creation cannot seem to stop talking about it.” 

“Look past your thoughts, so you may 
drink the pure nectar of This Moment.” 

 

“When you lose all sense of self the bonds of a thousands chains will vanish. 
Lose yourself completely, return to the root of the root of your own soul.” 

 

“This place is a dream. Only a sleeper considers it real. Then death comes like dawn, and you wake up laughing at what you thought was your grief.” 

 

“Very little grows on jagged rock. Be ground. Be crumbled, so wildflowers will come up where you are.” 

“‎Dancing is not just getting up painlessly, like a leaf blown on the wind; dancing is when you tear your heart out and rise out of your body to hang suspended between the worlds.” 

 

“The garden of the world has no limits, except in your mind.” 
― Rumi

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way. this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or
4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the
worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the
gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.
you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter,
it’s the only good fight
there is.