Please remember, you are beauty.
Moulded by the hands of the ones you love.
Carved by the tools of those you despise.
Sculpted by the ancients who inspire you.
Glazed with joy and laughter.
Fired by the flames of passion.
And displayed for all to admire.
Please remember, my dear, you are art of the purest form.

When my eyes are open

I can see this intricate, layered, sculpture in all its coloured and textured glory. I can see the colours of light, the shades of darkness. But sometimes vision is overwhelming. Sometimes I need to turn that sense off, to focus on the rest.

When my eyes are closed

I can feel more intensely, I can feel sounds as if they originate from the depths of my being. Bubbling up and oozing out of my perceived edges, dissolving them in the quest to be heard. If I listen long enough, eventually I become the sound, all sound, the wind, the insects, vehicles, children playing, the washing machine. It all comes out of the same silence that is at my very core.

I can see further with my eyes closed.

If you were me,
would I lie to you,
like I lie to me?

If you could see,
would I still pretend to be,
the me I thought,
I'd always be?

If you believed,
that we're all free,
would I hold back,
in uncertainty?