Funny thing life is.
The ironies and the simultaneous moments which oppose one another, in one giant stint of chaos. When you see the logistical success which you have attained but then feel that somehow the world and her singing birds have slipped, some, from their well-hinged axis. Washing in a tiny shower filled with every big thing there is to feel. When Metallica songs are played by four simple cellos. And when the world is cold outside and your insides are snugged warm and tight. And when a cold-hearted day is warmed by the grace of a humming white cat. Or when freshly swept, polished and mopped floors are suddenly dusted once again with white only moments later. Or when you come to find that in some lights you have become who you so wished not to be, aware suddenly that through all the fighting, you've not fought hard enough, still, to be who you envisioned.
And then there is the security of a few tiny and weak-standing walls. There is peace in the fur-covered wood floors you just mopped because it is something you recognize and life without the source of the fur just couldn't be the same. And then in this tiny space one finds that the chaos and the unknown is suddenly hushed and quieted as soon as the door shuts behind you, placing a well intended barrier between yourself and everything you cannot control- like the axis spinning, just a smidge off kilter. It's here that you finally see that though it's one of the worst, your bed is in fact perfect and just what you need.
When it becomes so quiet that you come to see that the race you're running and won has long since ended and that all along the way, you've missed the sight of gnarled branches uprooting from the earth, the green of the trees and the veins of their leaves and the trumpeted voices of the birds whose songs were meant to urge you to move forward.
When you realize that you are quiet and hushed like hot tea...not gregarious and bold like a red wine.
When suddenly you are the small sound of a simple whisper and like it.
The ironies and the simultaneous moments which oppose one another, in one giant stint of chaos. When you see the logistical success which you have attained but then feel that somehow the world and her singing birds have slipped, some, from their well-hinged axis. Washing in a tiny shower filled with every big thing there is to feel. When Metallica songs are played by four simple cellos. And when the world is cold outside and your insides are snugged warm and tight. And when a cold-hearted day is warmed by the grace of a humming white cat. Or when freshly swept, polished and mopped floors are suddenly dusted once again with white only moments later. Or when you come to find that in some lights you have become who you so wished not to be, aware suddenly that through all the fighting, you've not fought hard enough, still, to be who you envisioned.
And then there is the security of a few tiny and weak-standing walls. There is peace in the fur-covered wood floors you just mopped because it is something you recognize and life without the source of the fur just couldn't be the same. And then in this tiny space one finds that the chaos and the unknown is suddenly hushed and quieted as soon as the door shuts behind you, placing a well intended barrier between yourself and everything you cannot control- like the axis spinning, just a smidge off kilter. It's here that you finally see that though it's one of the worst, your bed is in fact perfect and just what you need.
When it becomes so quiet that you come to see that the race you're running and won has long since ended and that all along the way, you've missed the sight of gnarled branches uprooting from the earth, the green of the trees and the veins of their leaves and the trumpeted voices of the birds whose songs were meant to urge you to move forward.
When you realize that you are quiet and hushed like hot tea...not gregarious and bold like a red wine.
When suddenly you are the small sound of a simple whisper and like it.
