scoop me up, november wind. tussle me around like these burnt, brown leaves. leave me alone, big wind. leave me alone, biting chill, hungry coats, scratchy hats, bottomed out boots and swollen socks. leave me alone, coming cold and bottle necked branch billow breezes
saddle me with love – love the backsides of my knees, the places where my skin curls into freckle, the turn at the base of my skull where hair meets air. and i too, love the minutiae of waking up – of turning on the cellular limitations of liminal space, of devoting myself to loving every day, everyday. to at least attempt to find the glow of love at least momentarily – everyday.
I don’t mind the Instagram-ed glorification and beautification of life (if done right) because it is precisely feeding a hunger our society needs – the sacred versus profane – crossing the liminal space to the magic realism of everyday – providing perspective to the mundane moments of our life – honoring aesthetic everywhere – honoring the beauty of our lives everywhere – finding the sacred in the profane and lifting it up – elevating moments of life that otherwise slip by – consciously cultivating an awareness and reverence towards the formed beauty of our lives splayed out – dabbing art here and there – crossing the boundary lines between prose and poetry; between the pastoral and the profound daily. a meditation, a practice, a transformative tool for creating guerrilla art in everyone’s hands (just please don’t waste it only on selfies, dear friends and lovers)