Longing..

hema

I want to do away
with worry and fear…
inhaling deeply
letting the sharp salt air
permeate through my lungs

I want to look out
where the sky meets the waves
at the water’s edge
in a brazen, passionate kiss~
a wanton embrace
at its farthest horizon

I want to look up
and be blinded by the brazen sun,
forcing me to close my eyes
and bathe in its warmth
listening to its solitudinous soliloquy

I want to read  to my hearts content.
I want to write ~
write
until my mind becomes a blank canvas..
pouring,
emptying
releasing everything,
bleeding gold and silver
onto pristine parchment,
.. and having the golden sun bathe it
in crimson
as it sets.

I want to paint with the Master Artist along the azure sky,
our brush strokes illuminating the hues
of sunset and twilight,
and moonlight;
the reds, oranges, pale pinks and yellows and lilacs;
our hands resting into the deepest blacks in the depth of night
the stars, sparkling like diamonds

I want to be in flight
and chase the sunset
and the sunrise,
and mark the time
by the passing of the two twilights.

I want Love.
I want You.

 

Solitude

Andre Brito Photography

Within this solitude,
I have grown in ways I never knew possible.
I have delved deeper into the caverns
of each chamber
of this sacred abode
we call the Heart,
and discovered there is no end..
It is a perpetually incessant journey.

I continue to swim,
propelled through this bloodstream, ~ this heart’s dream..
my tears becoming one with the ocean
within the vessel that carries me forth.

Guided by a gentle hand, the inward immersion continues..
It is dark.. warm..
it envelopes me.
I cannot see .. rather I feel,
moving by the sight of faith.

There is safety in this sanctuary,
the guiding hand a cord,
the darkness a soothing, protective womb.

I inhale deeply —
as I hear the voice whisper:
 everything is allegory
      pain is a sculptor (it keeps us upright)
         love is a painter (his brush divinely guided)
            lust is a cello… (but what good is an instrument without a song to sing?)
and I am ecstatically transported to Tagore:
I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument 
while the song I came to sing remains unsung.”

I exhale cathartically —
Releasing..

It seems an eternity between the inhale ~ and the exhale..
a lifetime between each breath.

cello