Talk to me
The mind becomes scrambled and all that I know is this moment. All I know is this truth, this moment. As if speaking directly into your mind, into your heart, into your soul, yet to have it heard, the writings of the heart, the soul laid out on paper, how can we ever truly expose and share ourselves like this? Yet it seems to be the only thing that’s bringing me sanity these days, these moments, when all around seems to be superficial or surface level or rooted only within the appearance. Can any of us truly handle what’s going on down below, what’s happening under the surface? Do I group myself in with everyone that I pass by, everyone that I interact with because it’s easier to get swept up in the distractions of phones and books and new shows, when all I need is to just feel my body. I watch a movie to share about it in passing for a few moments and then it is over. To be part of some crave, some sort of community connection, some sort of mutual understanding. The few hours of my life that I breathed myself into presence in order to feel safe enough to let it in, yet then I barely did that, for it was the creation of someone else and how do I know if their intentions were real and pure and of love? And in a place of not knowing, I choose to become my own neutral state, I choose to become my own home. No matter what happens around, I am safe within.
My body says it remembers. My body knows the future, yet my body also seems to turn itself in different directions. I walked in the forest and leaned to the left, I sit in my chair here and veer to the right as if contorting around myself. So many people with so many opinions and I try to just hold myself upright and ‘in control’ of whatever that means. Can I really just breathe myself into a space of peace?
I’ll find out.
So many people have ideas, judgments on what should be, who I am and who I am not and who they think that I should be. Maybe they’re all right. Maybe none at all, maybe they’re all just voices mirroring my internal dialogue, maybe they’re all just mirages of ideas of what I think they expect of me. Why are there always expectations, why can’t we just be? The horrors of someone you didn’t want to know what it’s like for you, to truly find out, the horrors of a colleague or an uncle or someone else finding out the truth, of good god, the horrors. Yet what about it, what about baring yourself raw? Do you have to pull yourself back up by the bootstraps to make yourself known and whole again? Or is the raw vulnerability of your unrestrained expression a blessing to us all, to break so far out of the box, so far out of the mold that it creates a new pathway to be walked, one rooted so entirely and fully deep in compassion for that simply is the only way. People will scorn, people will judge, people will say what they will, they will demand and they will condemn yet those who have chosen the oath of their hearts will know, they will see, and they will understand. The soul within the body, the body as the home for the soul, they heart as the operator of it all.
The oath of the heart, the path of compassion. Of love, of understanding. Of taking our judgements and our ideas and shoving them into a bag and sending it down the river. Or speaking them out, or dancing them to the beat of the cosmic heart, or singing them out into the wind, getting them out, or whatever it is to get oneself back into the space of the heart. Of understanding, of true knowingness that we are not the body, we are the soul.
When you look into my eyes do you see my imperfections, do you see the places where my skin is peeling or my pimples or the hairs out of place, do you see how big my belly gets after I eat a meal, a great big sweet potato, or do you see my soul? Do you see the light in my eyes? Do you see the way everything around and within me gets bright when I laugh, when I talk about what I love, when I look into the clear sky with fondness, to feel the sun, to listen to the birds? When I feel you, do I brighten up? For I feel you inside of my heart, and in this space, all feels well. All feels fine, all feels safe and warm and whole again.
What do you see when you look at me? When you stare into my eyes, when I show you my soul. What is it that you see? Do you like it? Does it matter if you do or not? For if it’s of my soul, then it really does not matter at all. It does not really matter at all.
