My newest article published on Elephant Journal today:

 

Healing, That is the Task.

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Little one, let me hold you through every tiny tragedy your heart will immerse itself in. Let me close the blinds on the wreckage of this world and let us float, warm handed and able bodied through the future – to that place where all things live and breathe in equality and intellectual aliveness. Thank you for being my child, my love, my light. Thank you for waking me up and rattling me around the world I am constantly learning I am only just beginning to discover. I know nothing except the depth and fortitude of my love for you. Always, little one. Always stay in my arms here. Wrapped and rapt with love and light.

Oh July. Fierce hearted and wild eyed. I don’t know how to love you anymore than I do.

And the universe so rabid for release, so reaching – so thrusting in every direction. Expanding and inflating like balloons in love with the act of existing. Dark matter so heavenly and attractive – pulling and prodding at every atom’s tight skirt. Love, this fire-breathing universe; this wild cosmic egg exploding. Are we still exploding, big bang of origin? Will we ever be anything other than explosions in the night?
Hope, or something like it, drags me towards gravity like the ancient light of the cosmic microwave radiation. Keep me in this vibrant soup of protons, I am only a part of you if you remember. Don’t forget that ancient first breath. But is it really ancient if the light is still bouncing around us? Is it rather, more beautifully – ever present. The ever present beginning and end, universe after universe – all things altogether. Everything so peacefully violent; grandiose; full of light and shadows.

All the words that flutter around his mouth. All the ways he learns – quickfire, certain, on pace with his own unique rhythm. Bold, so bright. The way his face lights up like oxygen when passion strikes through him like air. This little being of love and light and fire. These two years on earth. That July night, at 12:52am that I birthed him into this world. This past year, so wild, so vast. Stretching out beneath my fingertips, too many moments to caught. Too much growth, vivid eyes, permanent smiles. Words forming in his mouth, in his mind. Learning to walk, to run, to grasp, to open, to taste a taste for things. To unwrap the world and take it into your hands. All of the little running moments. To, fro, here, there. So much love bounding out. Happy birthday to this boy, happy birthday to this life we have together. Happy birthday to love and happy birthday to all things born again in the night. That we all may bound out with love. Like scampering toddler feet learning how to run. Let us always be learning how to run, how to fly, how to speak, how to communicate and how to love. Let us be young again, and begin again. Let us begin at all. At last.

Every perfect thing I have ever held in my hands. Small wishes, fiery cities, warm loaves of love pulled hot out of the furnace. Kisses standing still in time. Lake water brushing my skin with sanctity. Bug nibbling on my shoulder out here in this tent. On this campground. In Toronto. In Canada. Under these stars, in this world, in this universe, with these rolling and unfolding strangenesses of lives. If only I could tell you the preciousness of this moment. How the presence of this night sky, and all the daylight moments tucked into the horizon, is the most elegantly carved wonder of a day. If only I could wrap it up, toss it warm fingered and light like a skipping rock over cool water.
Every small, glamorous morning like this. Cool wind blowing breezy snippets of sun through the tent flaps. Fresh morning light bathing my body is brightness

Warm little world I belong to, let me curve my hands into your heart. Warm little opus of a month, this is where I sit. The peach, plum and pear trees are rooting their tiny tendrils into the ground and the Trenton air runs thick with July. Branches and backyard bumbling I am watching two birds sit on a wire and hum the trilling tune of Tuesday. Always Tuesday. Let the dirt rise up and let me skin sink in. I’m ready to wash away in the sand.

Stars, how could you have forgotten? Stars, how could I have forgotten? The way the sea of dark and light stretches over you like a gauzy truth worth tucking into. How your brilliant wishes still hang on the precipice of the night sky. How the world unfolds and unfolds and unravels and travels you down the dizzying places of the world and still – and still – finds you here under this same night sky. The great equalizer. The great speakeasy of the universe – pouring down that effortless poetry from the cathedral ceiling above us. Dear stars, I never want to be without you.

I’m in love with these mountains, I’m in love with this air. I catapult myself through the trajectory of this landscape and I find myself rushing still like the lake, furrowing deep like the boulders and smuggling high like the trees themselves – bandits of light and swallowers of CO2. I love racing adventure faster than it can keep pace with me and I love finding myself in a new discovery, falling over a balcony, sipping up cupfuls of stars, dowsing myself in craggy cliff sides and staring up at that darkness at the stroke of night. I love being separated. From that swelling, swarming, seething world I live in. I love being here. Warmly washed with new words and waiting for the dawn to break on a new newness. Always fumbling towards discovery. Towards creation. Towards the created – this masterful world named nature that crumbles and glistens around me like magic architecture. Beckons like chants – saves like oxygen and sustains like heart. Bring me to the realness of things – to the full weight of the horizon pressing down on the wide spaces of your eyes no longer cluttered by cardboard and styrofoam. By flashing suburban trinket-town. Bring me to the fullness of things – the hurricane love of all things that grow and know and speak in silent languages through the soil and roots of this sun-drenched planet. Water me with things that speak this language – water, sun, air, growth. Give me that endless aching path towards everything there has always been.

And I will follow. With my heart in my hands and my hands holding fast to the promise of the light.