A sonic crossfade in time and space to honor the deep wisdom of night giving way to a merciful dawn.
Lines that have been drawn in the name of fear, let them be crossed. Magnify, intensify, and move toward your horizon where the darkest of nights still carries the hope of dawn. Dwell in the true nature of your light, unhinged from color, can you see that feeling? illumination requires the optics of the heart, to see what the eyes alone could only dream. Darkness is light in a form we are still learning to perceive. Trust what is cloaked, generally being, specifically unknown and somehow intimate. Somehow, be intimate. Be close with the darkness, do not leave her lonely. Sit with her. Be still with her. And dance when the time comes. Cross the threshold of sight as stars become visible and nuance returns to your senses. Burn the midnight oil and celebrate the shortening of this wick. Let these new eyes become you revealing a world somewhere between knowing and being. Exist in this shadow giving birth to an impending light. A sliver of change is unfolding you into a new reality. The tipping point is upon us. Describe to the still, the shape and texture, the tone and color that comprise your arrival. Compose your emergence and let there be space, like foreplay for phenomena. Let there be space for inhale and exhale to make love. Let there be space for the sun to come home to us. Trust his return. The revolution and the distance travelled to be still. Incubate and ponder your germination. Curate your rebirth in sleepy prayers for letting go. The upswing can share face with the downturn, but the body knows what it knows and cannot tell a lie. Let it rest and hibernate. Let your cells regenerate and listen to the wisdom they are whispering. Tune your ear to their frequency and allow them to transmit with ease. Let them be calm and clear, accepting their truth as love. Thank this darkness and its leaving. Bear witness and give testimony to its healing.
I am a poet, for better or for worse. It is a way in my being that, ironically has no words. It is a way in my being that finds me when I, and helps me to, forget. I am a poet, for better or for worse.