Your lenticular heart ushered in a new reign of openness in mine
Struggling to recover ground and stand fast in my world
Had led to precipitous decline
The extent of which appeared like a blank canvas
Painted in blank colors and signed “Life”

Harmonic vibes from past tribes
Come together to realign
Our voice as one is magnified
Raise your level from inside
Trust in part with what can't be seen
Feel supreme in alternating tones
Eyes often closed to open minds
Reap beliefs to form your own
No words are needed to succeed
Moving true free and deeply
Yet synchronised numbers rhyme in kind

My life changed on a whim.
For no particular reason I watched a squirrel scurry up a tree.
He, or she (but not an it), stared at me.
They went branch to branch, stopping here and there to observe their new observer.

And how many times has this moment passed by, going unnoticed.
How many times had this animal instinct been drowned out by the clutter of daily life.

It wasn’t as though I had disregarded life before, but this was a fundamental awakening.
Before I could wrap my head around the simplicity of this divine happenstance,
I saw a cardinal swoop down on a fence-post a few feet away.
Again, I was enveloped in the novelty of this life.
I was in a state of dull wonder, looking at the vibrant red, the low swoop of the crown, the small of the body.

The trance broke, another squirrel scurried past me and up a tree.

I noticed this one bore a scar.
The hind leg was stripped of fur.
The skin wore the discoloration of freshly healed flesh.
They too, stared at me, perhaps perplexed that it was being watched.

I walked on.
Then finishing my morning walk, I noticed many things.
It was not just life that was intriguing me, it was the way the mundane began to scream at me.
I walked through abandoned lots, noting the way their roads would crack and crumble.
I noticed broken security cameras from long departed offices and buildings.
I noticed the broken marlin in the trash heap behind some house, no longer sporting its beak.
I noticed an old ford with a rubber rifle shell for an antenna and a load of wood planks in its bed.
I noticed a graffiti stick figure on the short bridge, some dystopian cave painting.

All of that to say, a hidden world became revealed.
A world that existed underneath my own, blurred by its previously perceived unimportance.
So now, I wonder what to do with this knowledge.
I think I’ll borrow its magic.
I think I’ll write down the bizarre normalcy that I see.
A running list of averages.
It is the beginning of something.

A door has opened.

Fluctuations, Frustrations
A Dragon tears apart emotions
A Master tapping on my shoulder
Bewildering, indeed,
But are you going to open?

I snap my fingers
Deep breath, palms extended
Music plays
I move along

What words can describe
these contradicting times?
Layered with clarity
Awkward and confused

But I'm done with managing
False control dismantling
No means of direction
or need for protection

This is all mine

How easy it is to play with distortion
what a misfortune
to pervert such purity
assuredly, this takes maturity  

Open
Open
Open
to all that I am

It does not require definition
Just allow this transition
No force No exertion
This is the simple emersion

There is No Separation
This spirit is mine
This Energy is me
My awareness is no one else's
In my own oneness, I am free

I can't tell if the stinging in my eyes
Is from my tears
Or from keeping my eyes
Open in the rain
Too long.
Both end up blurring my vision anyway.
I don't mind though.
Because if there is a God,
And he's up there,
Then at least I know
He's as frustrated as I am.
And he deserves to be.

She said she wanted
to see the stars
while holding the
hand of someone
who loves her.

Yet i lay here
staring
into
the abysal plane
of the universe,
wondering
if she would ever realize
that my arms are
hanging forever open
just for her to clasp.

"my scars are so open."
i say. shaking. tears mixing with the numbness in my eyes.

                                                       "so... not scars, then"
                             you say. uncertain of what to do with someone so...
                                                           ­                ... in shambles

"if not scars, i don't know what to call them."
looking at your polished skin. my irises cracking open.

                                                          ­                "wounds."
                                       ­          as if you know what that word means.

"but wounds would have healed by now. i am not supposed to still be broken. my blood should have scabbed, my skin grown over. the thorns are gone, why not the pain?"
each word growing more quiet. my hands trace the cuts and smears follow my fingers.

                                                      "­are you sure you aren't doing this to
                                                                ­       yourself?"
                                              the pen in your hands hasn't made any
                                 words. i wouldn't know what to write either.

"i put down the knife a long time ago."
memories cascade.

                                                  "no, no. not with a knife made of silver.
                   a blade to make those marks would have to be made of
                                                              ­         thought."
                                  you try to remain patient. it's okay if you don't.

"oh."
and
i
shatter