quietness…

Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You’re covered with thick clouds.
Slide out the side. Die,
and be quiet. Quietness is the surest sign
that you’ve died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.

The speechless full moon
comes out now.

— Rumi —

its own kind of freedom…

I wrote love notes of various kinds… here and there… hoping I really was seen, feeling against thinking that perhaps finally, my trust was worth giving. I thot: this is what all those story books and fairytales were trying to describe. Swept off my feet, I fell.

Too late I realized I was wrong: when you looked at me, it was not a promise, it was not a meeting of well-mets; it was a warning.

… so many love notes.

Human hearts are fragile, made particularly malleable thanks to the mind-bending heat of misguided belief. Pain births deeper understanding as it sinks into scars you believed to be healed (or, at least, healing). Blame, lies, disrespect, and silence disappears love. We become rank with longing for something that never really was.

This is the struggle to Living.
This is why we pray for blindness.
Loving the Wrong One illuminates if our soul stays open.
I see you even more clearly now but more: I see me.

the sight of the stars…

You appeared before me in my dreams;
as yet unseen, you were already dear.
Your wondrous gaze filled me with longing,
your voice resounded in my heart,
long ago… no, it wasn’t a dream!

As soon as you arrived, I recognized you.

Have you not spoken to me in silence?
Have you not stooped gently at my bedside,
and whispered words of joy and love,
and whispered the words, “who are you?”

My fate, I entrust to you.
I can wait, I can wait…
You are my terrible angel,
my beautiful tempter…

What dark can come, when love is so light?

O, night is past,
everything is awake,
and the sun is rising…

lllllllllll— Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky —