Shorts

No matter how high up above or buried deep your heart is, no matter how cold the winds blow around you, your heart remains warm. She churns and melts rocks. She glows red and orange and steams. That's the power of your heart. It's broken and cracked into pieces but stays intact. It's through those cracks that you can see and feel the warmth and power of your own heart. If not, all you will find is hardened lava rock on the surface. So allow your heart to break once in a while. That's where you expand and make new land.

The leap was taken after much self-suffering and dismay. It has been about four months since. I am still falling and floating at the same time. I thought the leap would leave me dead on the ground, my head and my heart smashed into tiny pieces. I imagined and expected horror, pain, and death of some sort. I expected the fall to be brief and the death to be imminent. When I was planning all that in my head, it all happened so fast. I jumped, I fell, I died, I was reborn, and I started walking on the earth again. I was pretty sure all that would happen within the first three-four months after the fall. After all, no one keeps falling for four months. Right: that part was right. No one keeps falling for four months. But I know I didn't hit the ground yet. So where am I? What happened after the fall? This is where 'reading whatever comes to your hand' comes in pretty handy. I heard one of our housemates had the first two books of Game Of Thrones. As a huge fan of the series, I ...

 I would love to go back to those Nugegoda nights with long walks under yellow street lights and a domed sky scattered with humongous Mara branches spreading out until they've turned into a thousand minuscule fingertips, reaching out as far as it takes to be next to the fingertips of their lovers. They never touch, they never cross over, they never clash, but just close enough to feel the other's warmth. Just close enough to stroke the skin as the wind pushes them too far. That shy little space is what keeps them safe, keeps them harmonious, and tests their patience.  Those were the budding days of sheer creativity and curiosity. What a combination! What a rhythm that pulsing life had! I miss all of you who were there, pulsing on your own rhythm and pulsing with me; reaching out but not clashing. You made the best memories, best.

With all your smiles, your light, your good little heart, how can you do wrong? How can anything go wrong? How can you end up in a bad place? That's not what you create. With the words and colors of your mind, your sheer imagination, and your eye to see the most curious and, therefore, beautiful things in seemingly unimaginable spaces, how can it go wrong? This hope you have is not for nothing. You just can't see it right now in this mist, under this storm cloud that's covering the whole of you. Losing hope is the easy thing to do. Holding on to it is the true test.  You are a dreamer. So, fuck it, fine. Dream. If that's what you can do best now, then do it to your best. Give it all you got and Dream. Feel that dream because Dreams are possibilities. Nothing stops here. Time and tide, they keep moving on and on and on. You can't stop walking this journey you've started, not right now, not when you know there are many cabinets of curiosities waiting just for you ...

What is it that captures the eye, the mind, the heart, and the soul of us when we are in a candle-lit room? Maybe the very invention of the light bulb robbed us of subtle, mundane moments of seeing the depths and shapes of people and things around us.  Our eyes have gotten so used to well-lit rooms we've started to look at souls in full light, where everything is so flatly, factly presented. All ebbs and flows flattened to mere profiles with no texture. So, let me see you in candlelight, to see you whole in your true depth and shadow.

 It's been fun, being that girl. She was the way she was because she was ready to do anything for love. That's what got her out of bed and got her out of her very cozy comfort zone. She was brought up in that comfort zone, but love made her rebellious. Love made her curious, thirsty. Love made her a reader, a traveler. She dropped me off here and got off the driver's seat, tired, absolutely exhausted. She wants to take a good long rest, she says, to go back to the realm of dreaming and re-constructing, to nourish that part of her.  It is my time to drive, and I have no other options left. So, what's my motivation now? Why am I doing all this for? What gets me out of bed now?  Whatever it is, I have to take to the road while love sleeps in my back seat, making her way to the world of dreaming.  Sweet Dreams, my love.