In moments of rest (because I've had them) questions commence to haunt me like old wise souls. Clouds travel to me, through me, and from me, touching me in ways that are unrecognizable by my physical body. Yet, I am touched nonetheless.
Questions, words, ideas, smells, images, colors, tunes and rhythms.
Lying looking at the ceiling and feeling the overpowering space between me and maybe some other curious star. Cuddled on my side staring at a trees shadow on my wall. It dances with the wind--shaking off its old rusty dust, becoming bright green ready for more sun. Surrendered to the floor, on my belly, side of my face on the ground. A melting drop of oil, beating. I can hear my heartbeat, I dance with my breath, and i thank for being here and being part of the earth-- just like any other little creature that steps my same earth.
Shoes, boots, sandals, heels detach us for where we come from.
I place the soles of my feet on the generous ground. It is there to take me (you) in. We are also stems that inhale and feed off the soil and water. We are also leaves that shine and grow with the sun, and dance with the wind.
Fingertips touching my own skin: feel eyelashes, feel lips, feel knees and hips. Wake your touch and know thyself, love thyself. Feel, thank, and love.
We are being told not to. To cover, imitate, deny, copy and curse for our so-called faults. Shake it off and think of the wonder of being one and only. One and only. Beautiful one and only. A box of paints that can color and sparkle and twinkle just and only like you.
Wake the dead of beauty. Wake the so-feared human spirit. Wake the so-called dangerous emotions and playfulness. Wake the daring, wake the risking, wake the long-held tears and voice. A voice that can sing, yell, howl and laugh in all it's colors.
Wake the Dead.
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