Deep breath in the city

It’s amazing how absence of love can teach you to love in new, or at least forgotten ways. It’s amazing how absence of Joy and presence of pain can create a depth of joy blended with pain that comes from somewhere so far inside you forgot it existed. And its existence is a constant ache but one, despite the throbbing, you don’t want to lose quite yet, because at least it lets you know you’re alive. At least it’s something. And this Joy, this tingle, and pulse is so much more than what we so often call happiness.

Pain has an amazing presence sometimes; makes us so aware – and awareness can be deeply beautiful.

In that original absence things that, in reality can’t love me – somehow do, and that love is more real, more oddly satisfying (for the moment at least) than makes sense.

My steps connecting with the pavement held to the earth of a city, of a world, that breathes love and embraces – expecting nothing.

Revealing new sides of itself everyday. Walking home in the muffled hush of a city nestled in fog, giving me room to sing, to pray, to think, to yearn and feel that yearning met by something larger than myself but also within myself– and within those I silently pass – even if they don’t know – as I so often don’t. Connecting.

And days ago – before the Joy of a night of music, and rhythm, and laughter, and life. Before the torment and confusion of honesty and uncertainty and second-guessing. Before lying back and taking time to breathe – in another moment of awareness it spoke to me. Spoke in a way so different from when there was one with whom I could listen. A way not better, not worse . . . just precious..

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Yearning for touch, longing, and knowing it will not come I resign myself.

I turn my mind away: away from the inner and toward the outer.

Aroused beyond belief from thoughts I can’t resign I look to the world and make love.

Or rather, I open myself and let the world make love to me. Let it enter my essence and become one.

As I walk my senses are awakened – the call of a distant bird is a voice beckoning, whispering.

The gentle breeze slowly caresses my arm, smoothing over my neck, breathing into me as I accept the pleasure that is also pain.

I turn and walk beneath rich, strong boughs – arms to shelter me. To protect me as I once was.

The deepness of the leaves’ hues; the shadow that envelopes me - drawing me into a sense called home.

At each turn another aspect of this world I’ve taken into myself speaks of its passion. Of its constant presence. Of its love.

Working its way through my body in that give and take of love. Except I realize at this moment . . . it’s all give. Knowing that’s what I need. Engulfing. Filling. I give only with my thankfulness, with my joy at the existence that surrounds me.

The world takes my pain, my frustration, my yearning and in turn soothes; pleasures. I reach out to my personal emblem of youth, innocence, pure passion and childlike happiness: I reach out and cradle a dying lilac in my hand. I inhale the scent – drawing it in my head swoons, my senses overwhelmed I sigh in complete ecstasy. I yearn for complete intimacy. I draw this in the way I wished to draw so much else.

I shall let go. Some touch is unreachable – but still the world surrounds.

Beauty. Sweet, inconsolable beauty.