They think people should domesticated with culture. They think that someone having the audacity to be who relax and be natural to be who they are is wild. They think wild is nature and  they think everything will fall to pieces of it left to be wild and natural,but the flowers still bloom and spring still comes in harmony accomplishing it all
–no chaos, balance–
that is the way through balance

( the mind cannot take you there)

I will not tell you what to fear or believe  instead I will show you
what brilliance can stir from the wells of one being when it grazes upon spring and with a sorrowful heart decides that all starting points are good enough starts
and proceeds to slowly walk under the timeless rain nursing  in its belly the desire to not just to live life but live a life of wellness

it was just that the rain reminded me of you
and I had to hold all the unspoken words
and all my tangled web of misperceptions without clarification in a bag
apart from what you are
who you are
who knows who you are

and I hold what you might think of me in a bag, too

and I know the mind cannot arrive at truth
it can only circle around the field  
and drive itself dizzy
until it collapses

so I close my eyes and try to sense
what does not have words

I am happy to be who I am
every single sorrowful thing, and every small glorious moment swirls in communion

I am happy
just happy

I enter the sacredness of this existence

Hold my life with respect

My friends say that I am like a solitary monk
that I am a hermit
a recluse and sometimes
I believe them like I believe the calendar that tells me it is April

Who really knows what “April” even is
the name of months are birthed from languages’
named just as babies are named
and in their vowels and consonants can be found  
nestled
a promise of life’s yearly renewal
cyclical forgiveness,  do-overs

but I do not know what April is I just agreed to it like the rest of us and do not know what a monk is so perhaps

The sparrow's songs blossom like azaleas
until they  become an open chorus sung in rounds amongst the trees
ever circling and deepening
they remind me of what life is truly like when we venture back
away from the illusion of thoughts