Where are the sounds, the humming Muse stirring and singing
In the way she does, at midnight or in the kitchen, eyes gleaming
And her invitation, “come dance with me”?
Where even is my pulse, for often I found it impossible not to bleed
And show what my whole self was made up of, a river of red,
Proof. I am the living.
Where, from here, can I go?
I have come to learn how imperative it is to learn the great difference between a cage and a cocoon; while at first they feel like the same thing – claustrophobic, restricting, cramped, closed. In both it will seem like you’ve been there for a lifetime, and it will be a lifetime more before you get to go home. But it is imperative to learn the great difference between a cage and a cocoon; one will eventually transform every fiber of your being, and the other will just turn you to stone.
What I am hungry for is to be wild and free, courageous and bold, and I get so scared of all that is included in seeking that kind of living that I want so badly to just stay home. Here’s how that plays out:
excavate (v). “What courage to bring shovel to earth and break ground, to commit to the dust and clay, to lay in the dirt for decades in hopes of recovering…”
brink (n). “And how the caution has translated into my life, how I estimate with a huge margin for chance mishaps, thinking what could go wrong, or at the very least, how many red lights I could hit on the way. It brings me too often to say, “why bother?”, it keeps me from going all chips in.”
churn (v). “It all seems to come to a boil at once…the sudden necessity for the stormy waves when all you see is glass waters.”
vow (n). “I can promise few things; there is much that is unknown and much that has yet to be shaped. There is little I own or have acquired that I can bestow to you.”
project (v). “I hope I was more mindful of my wild heart, and all its musings. I hope I was more available and less doubtful to the possibility that my life can be richer and more full than I could ever even consume.”
sweep (v). “but tell me all of the truths about your wild and beating heart, and I will tell you all of the stories I could ever think to keep you smiling and keep you near.”
boundless (adj). “You are not mine to bottle, you are no one’s, not even hers.”
timber (n). “I’ll pitch the tent and you make the fire, I’ll meet you here in the wild mountain landing of your heart.”
contagious (adj). “Your spontaneity sets me off-guard, it is alarming, and I get nervous, but the spark and the heat that rolls on my skin, the ignition I feel in my chest, the rising of the hair on the back of my neck when I’m around you, it makes me want to follow your abandon all over this town.”
radical (adj). “You make me want to make a print and leave a mark, you make me want to colour the earth and fill it with song. After talking to you it’s like everything sings, and I like the world like that.”
composition (n). “Then again, you are in every page and every piece – sometimes about you, sometimes in your honour, sometimes a rebuttal to a previous conversation with you – but you’re always there, even if regrettably, because, if not the hero, you are at least always the muse.”
youth (n). “We were just / Two kids, we were/ amazed to be in love, it was/ sweet and light, pure, it won’t/ happen again, that kind..”
vary (v). “We are different and not the same, we are from far apart and we have gathered, glued and fused just the same.”
fused (v). “I want to be leashed to your wandering, where we are free and full and light.”
hush (v). “I want to climb inside your quiet. It threw me off, that’s certain, the quiet in even your hands and your ease in the silent moments that drift in and out of our conversation.”