ocean

we are not good at goodbyes.
perhaps it's because we believe
that nobody can disappear anymore.
with fewer full-stop moments
motion begets mindset belies connection.
like when we force
our parting words
around each other,
each needing to be the last one heard
and first one turning away,
we then pass out of doors
and through space
without much witness.
we used to do better.
our words could armour souls,
illuminate minds,
and buttress courage with hope.
we knew
without being told
that a short voyage away from us
could mean forever
or never coming back.
so we offered ‘god be with you’
or we’d say ‘go with god’
or even ‘with god’
but now
we nod
just above gracelessness,
if we even offer a goodbye.
we used to charge god
with protector and co traveller
as defense against the world's imagination.
but our minds,
like the world,
became filled with concrete things
and it felt strange and oddly mystical
to need blessings
against the unknown of everything,
anymore.
our curated knowledge,
piled up in silo'd spaces,
shielded us from a seismic shift -
no one falls off the edge of
the earth these days
because the rounding horizon always
seems to lead them back to you.
and we rely on that.
everytime we say 'see ya',
a binary star of understated
black matter implodes
around the moment
and what makes us humane
becomes oversimplified,
commodified to the point that
relationships only can exist in plain view.
close a door light goes out.
open a door light goes on.
despite the truth
that the light we see
may have travelled
thousands of years to reach us.
that casual nod
without any ephemeral fog
of the hope
that should so deeply run through our networks,
creates a wide spread
fractured mess of relations.
some people we like,
others we quote,
a handful we actually
hold hands with.
and the trouble we face
is that when language
no longer has union with function,
and it becomes only fashionable
to wear relationships
like red carpet clothing,
and when we offer
vague bookends
to our comings and goings -
then what are we really offering each other?
can i offer a thought?
that this is one possible vanguard of
a world beginning to lose its meaning,
a world that cannot be lived in,
only through.

no clock here

minutes passed to hours

moments became ours

 

where yours and mine

released 

into us.

 

[breathe]

 

we

made light fill our minds

moved through space

and time

and 

found sacred spaces

 

secret places

 

hiding in plain view.

 

[breathe]

 

all the while in this

we

made long lines

of life and limb

and seem

to be

reaching to imagined skies

 

fingertips blazing

self erasing

and bending

in animal pantomimes,

we offered our best

 

and worst

 

to our adopted spirits.

 

[breathe]

 

drawing fingers opened wide

reaching for that hanging

sigh –

and found

a very

sweet breath.

and breathe we did.

 

[breathe]

 

finding harmony within us

and between us

 

where namaste waited for us

to accept the offering

that felt so new

and yet so familiar.

 

flowing,

flowering, 

greeted,

and grateful

 

[breathe]

 

head bowed down

a sated soul

in awe

and

in honour

 

heels planted like

oak roots and

ass to the sky.

wow this hurts.

 

and

such a strange salute

to the universe

but damn

it feels good too.

 

now we accept

we are fractured

and fictional

and factioned

 

yet 

inactioned

still

we find focus,

in the breathing.

 

on this emotion,

in the breathing.

 

on that sick relative.

in the breathing.

 

on that random guy over there.

in. the. breathing.

 

[breathe]

 

my gods.

what time is it?

 

a prescient metaphor

similar to a door

likened to so

much more –

its cruelly imprecise.

 

I know what time it is.

 

we know

and though

the time has come,

 

we leave in slow motion.

caught in the gravity of memory

and notion

that we must

keep breathing

keep seeing

 

and

 

as the door opens

and light speed life

taunts us,

disses us,

I offer this,

 

there is no clock here.

 

wonder will

expand

and expect

a willing child

to follow

 

so we do

because

we will

be

and 

we are

 

all

wonder full.

 

[breathe]

 

sharp things like change and goodbyes

I don't want it he said.
     I know she said.
Its too heavy to carry.
     I remember.
And it hurts everytime, 
everytime I try it on.
     Its like that at first. 
     Move around. 
     Sometimes it stretches.
But I don’t want it.
     I know.  
     But you will.