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There’s a bizarre pleasure
To the depressive illusion
I want both to be free of it
And also cover my head
shunning the light of day

My body feels stiff, rigid
I want to elongate myself
Pulling, cracking, arching
But the end feels closer
The smaller I become

Aummmmm
Nam Myoho Renge Kyo
Namaste

It isn’t working.
The body is strong
The mind and heart
They are so weak
Resentful of its being
A dichotomy of feelings

AummmmmmmMMMMMMMMM
Among the pillows
I scream it out
Croaking, raspy.
My ears crave
The piercing of
My Own Voice


NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO
The pressure builds
My head buzzes as
resonating repetition
Rips through my consciousness
The body is bored of the effort
Just stop

NAMASTE
It’s time to get up
The end is a long way off

Reach.
Breathe.
Deeper.
That’s it.

Hold.
Breathe.
Deeper.
That’s right.

Feel that?
You like that,
Don’t you.
That feels…
Good.

It’s not comfortable
It’s not pain
It is life.
Some days the memories creep up on me, and the body says, let go, start over. This story is just getting good, you’ll see.
Part of me wants to hold the pain
the way I wish I could hold you
it feels more productive
than letting go.

How can I allow
the process, the universe, god
to take care of itself, when there is pain?

As if the preoccupation with the possibilities,
will protect you more than my prayers
as if the pain were a sentinel.

I hold the pain as a dagger.
Stabbing into the darkness, into the void.
Fending off invisible foe, parrying against suffering.

No one leaves life unscathed, and so I fail you.
I cannot protect you from life.
My honor is tarnished.

My love, please know,
I will be here when you are happy,
And especially when you are sad, scared, lonely.

When life bears down, and the weight is too much,
I will be here, prying apart the dimensions,
As an anchor to reality

My precious one,
You are beloved since always.
This love has always been, and always will be.
When all returns to the great silence,
This love remains eternal.
To my most venerable teacher, my highest honor, my greatest challenge. To my son.
Holding up a cheery facade-
exhausting, necessary, effective.
Telling myself elaborate stories-
it's fine, i'm ok, i'm doing my best.

Eventually it will be true.
Soon the stories will manifest.
Hold fast to the veil of illusion.
Don't unmask the magician yet.
This one wanted to be a song. Follow the link for the audio: https://veed.io/view/59b434ce-0668-4376-9fc3-06c9eadde881
 Jun 2023 F Elliot
irinia
become
 Jun 2023 F Elliot
irinia
under the voiceless sky I become
more and more allusive, myself and me
my selves dissolve in hematopoiesis
the economy of loneliness abolished
I want my heart to be a public space
an agora for your dreams or theirs
societal connections make people real
although thinking does hurt, I swear,
but we'll get used to it,
to the incommensurability of Reality

love is a constant state of meeting the other
of meeting ourselves like light meets the grass
 Jun 2023 F Elliot
irinia
or
 Jun 2023 F Elliot
irinia
or
If the soul were a cherry, you'd squish it gently between your lips with a smile just for flavor. That's just sometimes. You run through my sleep, create a new dimension. There I see you,  taste you, smell you, I lie in wait actually. Or watch over you,  my pure emotion.
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