Gently splashed in the oxygen of this world, I am June. Love follows me through every blade of grass, and me, I’m in the center with a sideways heart peeling out of my spine. Love is the every-always answer. So let it be here. Raw, today, resonant.

Rapturous and green this season wraps its arms around me like furtive claws clamoring me out into the freedom of light. This season grasps me and grapples with time and wrests me from that resting place in luxury. Love wrestles me to the ground and the ground wrestles me to be better. The air, the dirt, the wide-scoping┬áchin of the land presses up at me for a kiss – I reject. I pursue. I run hot with envy and trail fever through the narrow passageways of the season. I run hot through this season – fire ball haired and skin savaged with sun. Somehow always, something is growing. Something is reaching towards that More that keeps funneling light through the sky. I furrow myself into a ball and roll myself through the open-crested blue of the sky. I let myself cloud like an army of water droplets. I crowd myself with hope and let my energy stretch my spine across the sand of the ocean. Across, across, across, lifting up and out, stretching ancient like wings fumbling across the sky – this is the movement of the season. Up, up, and endlessly beyond. Try and chase the season – or let it chase you – it will always move faster than the speed of light. The season of light is the season beyond speed.

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To the world so mad, so splayed out and inhuman – to the world so violent with love and vision – sink deep into the mires of sullen wildness and churn out the very best syllables you have always known. Speak that dark, devastating peace that squirrels into your heart and fumble through those terrifying spirals of uncertainty that wheel you around this three-horse carousel of a planet. Devour the planet’s wanting, want for the betterment of all angels, arch your spine in a curve long enough to reach for hope, spin your fingertips around in a circle long enough to feel what you are blessed enough to touch. Touch what you are blessed enough to be touched by. Touch the world’s small, swollen heart and let it beat without fear. Let it hurry you to the edge of the wood, to the swell of the sea, to the turn of the tide, to the winter of this new day’s disintegration.┬áTo all the words waiting to be known. Have I ever written anything that wasn’t this exact sentiment? Will I ever know anything else but this plea to be free? This prayer to be awake, to be known, and to know once more that I know nothing. I want to write the world to freedom. To love, to fiery, wild harmony that bangs on piano keys and makes music in alignment with the sky’s silver architecture. I want to save the world with the truest prayer and the simplest song, but the optimism of a tiny fragile wanderer means only this and only that and never this and that.


 

Call out to that wild, uncouth solstice sun – that aching warm, strawberry moon and let the ice-June trill of bird calls awaken this season called summer. Let it be. Let it burst. Let it grow like old grains of harvest past wearily wandering towards this new day. This new day. This new season. This new reason to wake to the light. This new light to call out the flesh once white and weeded with winter winds. This new light to satisfy the hunger of souls gone thirsty for life. For the soft hands of leaves that reach out in the mid-afternoon sun. For the chirping tosses of water that stumble over one another in the clear crackles of streamspace. For the streamlined surrender of body to flesh of soul to spirit of new love to new love to hands of time that stand still in the sunlight. To the hands of time that stand still in the sunlight. To the golden wash of 5pm stray beams of light – longing for a new home on your shoulder. To summer. To light that wraps itself up in your hair, twirls out your spine and sends shivers through rivers. To rivers of ripples of rolicking laughter that roll themselves out on the grass. On the meadow. On the valley. On the wide spread hands of mountains and on the curved backs of cloudless skyshapes.

Call out to that timeless summer – that endless barrel of a drum that beats until the sun goes down. And then even after the light has dipped, the swell of the season still splashes against the night sky. The hollow hum of fireflies still rushes towards your leaning ear. The splicing sight of stars floating in the warm night still bounces around you. The summer days never end, they just evolve into something deeper- sweeter – more soundly: summer nights. Time ticks on unrepenting and the oligarchs of days and the regency of Tuesday, Thursday and Wednesday dissolve. No one owns these days except the sun and the strawberry moon. No one owns the season except Light itself. And love, its fearless producer.

And Fear, you have no place here. This season is for the bright blue eyes of the sky – timeless, unrelenting, and waging a war on the fire of fear.

 

Sun washed soul and mind drenched body. I am floating through this summer. Hello summer, welcome solstice, welcome words of pools of freedom. Little Jamie is growing so fast, spitting words out and dribbling them down his front. Bumbling out syllables and connecting ideas like wildfire. Numbers and names and things that go vroom. The world is blooming and bursting and all I know how to do is breathe.

My friend’s status reads:

“I love you. I love you no matter your sexual orientation. I love you no matter the color of your skin. I love you no matter your sex or gender or age. I love you no matter your nationality. I love you no matter your religion. I love you regardless of your successes and your failures. We are soul siblings, you and me – facing each day’s pain and joy, trying to get by, enjoying this planet we call home. We are all unique, yet all one. We are so important, yet so small. So powerful, yet so fragile. I don’t know why evil exists. I don’t know how to overcome it. I don’t know why life is so hard – why it ends too soon. All I know is I love you.”

Windswept eyes and June so white so wild so windlass. Life is this everlasting bike I am pedaling and me, I’m a small one in a big unjust world. What I say when I say God is not what you mean when you say God. What I say when I say God is not God but it is what it is.