I am a champion of Longing.
Full of gratitude, yes,
but born with an irrepressible
Desire to Chase.
I am always
peering around the corner,
staying up all night,
and stoking the fire
for only the greatest of dreams
of art, adventure, and pleasure,
of science, nature, and mind.

The beginning of romance too,
is taking on the role of explorer,
setting forth into the unknown,
getting my feet wet,
and splashing forward
by drawing a map.
I am exuberant,
(sometimes forwardly so),
not because I seek to plant a flag
and claim connections as my own,
but because I seek to chart the boundaries
of hearts unknown.

I wish to delight in each waterfall,
spelunk each hidden treasure,
plot and survey each peak!
Is that not the greatest joy -
getting to know
that which finds your soul,
multiplies it,
and hands it back to you anew?

Perhaps after thorough study
One may find a home.
And yet, there is also magic
in just passing through,
an extended holiday,
a retreat when healing is needed,
a reminder of that which makes us
ourselves.

And thus,
I will love, and love, and love.
Not always thoroughly -
sometimes in small explosions,
sometimes not as much where I'd like,
sometimes too much where I'm not needed -
But still I will.
Still I will create, do, inspire,
wonder, and love as much as possible,
Knowing that which does not nurture Longing
is temporary.

Before

My feet are big
And growing ever bigger.
Large, wide,
And filling every shoe.
They stick out from me
Making flats look ridiculous.
They are like life rafts,
Falling to the side like pillows
When encountering resistance.

After

My feet are long
And growing ever stronger.
Supportive, storied,
And deserving special care.
When pointed, they are elegant,
Skeletal and muscular, even when in heels.
They are like canoes,
Chiseled and carved with love,
Gliding forward with intention.

Dear Ghost,

Would it be easier for you
if I ignored you,
blocked you, hid you,
and came back later
after an 'appropriate' amount of time?
Or is it easier if I stay,
patient and persistent,
occasionally dropping my two-cent
invitations, heart, and laughter,
gently
(repeatedly)
reminding you
that in spite of everything
I still give a ****?

I ask
because I do not know,
just as I can not ascertain
whether to hope or to mourn.
I hypothesize that neither
will improve this situation,
but I agonize over which
might make it worse.
Your input on the matter
would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,
Lost in Limbo.

A reminder -

It is still winter,
We are still in the thick of it,
Chains and snowshoes
are still requisite,
Imbolc and Candlemas
are still to pass,
Groundhogs hibernate,
Tarns still as glass,
The tumbling finch song
has yet to be sung,
and even the false spring,
has not yet sprung.

So lie still a while longer,
Let the chill freeze you through,
Warmer days will return
in their own time,
And so will you.

We could have jumped
directly off the cliff
but instead,
we're paragliding.

These winds of change
are terrifying, tough, and turbulent.
Still, our stomachs are in knots.
Still, we wonder where we'll land.
Still, we will coast,
eventually
to the bottom.

And maybe I won't be scared
of heights,
falling,
or the ground
by the time it's over.

The road ahead
is full of possibility,
but not for the faint of heart.

Luckily,
I am not faint of heart.

Bitter anger and confusion
like vinegar
won't stop love from flowing.
They are both liquid
coursing together
through the great channels
carved by passion.
When dammed,
these too overflow.
I must, somehow, create culverts
and new places to go.