We live not so much as to what we are
As to what we are becoming.
But I suspect that what we are becoming
Is, in truth, what we really are.
This now merely a state of separation
Hastening toward unity, integration,
                     wholeness...
Up ahead, the road will become narrower,
                     rougher...
The journey will become increasingly
                     harder...
You may want to surrender...
                     take my hand...


- fr

That night the air smelt like cotton candy
The lights a kaleidoscope
I could taste the saltiness of the air
My toes burning from the warm sand
I remembered everything that day
Especially you
Your eyes sparkled like those fairy lights
Your lazy smile, so effortless
Your soft brown hair tousled up by the wind or my hands I couldn't tell
And in that moment it was like everything except for you went out of focus like in a new HD camera.

I lie here tracing my own skin
Drawing invisible lines between
My freckles so meticulously placed
Because who will marvel at
The contour of my wrists
And the sharp edges of my hips
If not me?

Just write
Express your thoughts
On backs of napkins if required to
Sand at beaches
Dust
Snow
Mud
Any surface will do!

I am facing serious backlash from my mind.

It just won't listen to me.

It  boasts, I am everything that is you!

It overrides me at every step.

It's decisions have given me endless head aches and heartaches.

I don't know whether I am the mind or mind is I am?

I have tried to free my self from its over powering grip,

but it won't let me go.

I am sick of my own mind. I feel helpless and exhausted.

I tried to subdue it, silence it, but to no avail. It won't surrender.

It's ******* of me continues

Out of sheer helplessness;

I have decided to live with my mind and endure its machinations!

Darling don't hang on
To clown trinkets,
And let a mad druggist ***** clunker
Go hurling off into the night

When we connect
We break apart

Here's to healing...
There's to art.

i'm watching it all fade
before my very eyes

as the light
what little left there is

flickers


Whit Howland © 2020

one day I hope the voices stop