First Breathe

Breathe and remember your hollow places

The bowl beneath your ribs

The cup in the throat

Fill them full and let them hold your song

Sing and keep that spirit rolling

Let it roll until it rocks

I will remember…

To sigh upon the sight
To be hushed by lips before dawn
To breathe as sounds stir between
To sigh
To sigh
To sigh

Her Feline Nature

Slip under the sun; sighs be born again

Letting go is such a lengthy process. There are so many layers; each one stickier and more strongly rooted than the the previous. As I sit pressed against the window pane, my chin raised to the sun leaking in, my eyes closed in its light, the colours deepening and swelling against one another, fluidly red, orange, pink, white, amber, red, violet…..it suddenly makes sense. Feelings are like the colours of strong, warm light. Each one barely distinguishable from the next until it is nearly transformed into what follows. Hindsight knows us better. The heart needs space to echo. Our own comfort, within ourselves, is the only thing that can provide that space. We are vast and open canyons painted with light, dipped in shadow, and ripe for the reverberations of tempered beats slipping into the sun to be lost like forgotten sighs ready to be born again as new breath.

#SNDTRK:

…

She remembered the day they planted the shard, and waited through seasons of rain that fell hard. While time moaned on by, like time only does when seeking a memory in the forever that was. Nostalgia a cage, a lonely old tune by neglected pianos in otherwise empty rooms.

 

Lifting Space

When she instructs me to lift my ribs & feel the expansiveness of the inner body I can’t help but imagine the ocean mingling w/ the universe. I can’t help but see orcas in starlight, each rib and vertebrae a constellation. Each breath poised for the realization of our interconnectedness and the nuance of the space between.

…

deep sigh and levity, this heart booms

An Age of Grace

She moves at once with the fog. Rolling in off the ocean, her white hair like the wake of her hearts tides, swirling before her breath. I see her between concrete and green grass. Always graceful. Always warming to the touch of our eyes; and I can only hope my own tides turn so truly while the planets spin.

Describe the Weight

The bus is not your living room. There are strangers here who want to be submerged in their own dramas. Yours are loud and one sided. Poorly edited with too much of a slant. Yet I hear it, your voice holds the pain that your heart wants not to hide. No amount of dirty talking on your satellite device surrounded by strangers can hide that. Try telling her how you feel. Describe the expansion of your nerves. Describe the pumping of your blood. Describe the creases in your heart. Describe the weight that’s falling from your tongue.

Falling Favourites

My favorite season has begun and it is not disappointing in any capacity. The brisk sunny days, the invitations to entertain the muse over tea, the shedding of dying attachment, the confetti and tears of natures celebratory heart, the sweet scheme of color that warms even in the cold, the apples, the pumpkins, the cozy woolen wears!