Tag Archives: universe

I wrote you a love poem

I may not always tell you how I feel
or say the words you want to hear
but my dear, I muster the courage
and the words
to tell you about the universe,
the half-lit moon,
the snow storm coming far too soon,
before we’ve stocked up with coffee and bread,
before the morning dawns it’s color red.
In bed, I tell you how I feel
with each grab and each caress,
with each kiss upon your tattooed chest.
I may not always have the words to tell you how I feel
or say what you want to hear,
but my dear, I want to tell you
how the sunshine reminds me of your freckled face,
how I struggle with being strong, with having grace,
how the smell of summer and sunshine
make me think of you,
and how you set off fireworks within my lungs.
There are no words in the dictionary
to describe
the feeling of being wrapped up in your arms,
those words just don’t exist,
but it feels better than a cup of tea
better than a hot shower
better than chocolate milk,
and if I could dance across the sky with you,
we’d two-step from Venus to Saturn and it’s many moons,
and I would sing a song to you
to tell you about the universe,
and the half-lit moon.

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Letter to the Universe

Let me be all that I am:
stand me up on mountains
so that I can stand for myself,
teach me to scream, loud,
so I have something to say
and say it well. Show me staircase
after staircase
so I never get tired of climbing.
Give me days of rain so I fall in love
with the sun. Give me nights of loneliness
so that I appreciate love.
Let me feel heartache
because maybe hearts were meant to be broken.
Show me fear and death and sadness and brokenness,
strength and heaven and hell and wisdom.
Show me that I am invincible.
Show me that I am not invincible
because comic books aren’t real.
Cause me to bleed and cause me to heal.
Create in me a child of your reflection:
of the blue skies, the ragged sea, the wildflowers,
the mountain streams. Beat me up, turn me over,
make me give it everything I’ve got.
I know you do this because you have made me strong.
And I know you won’t give me anything I can’t take.
But sometimes I wish you would show
a little grace.

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I hope the stars sing you a lullaby tonight
and the sky teaches you how to dance.
I want you to know that it is up to the Universe
to teach you how terrifyingly beautiful this life is.
I want you to know it is up to Life to reveal how
beautifully terrifying everything beyond the heavens is.
Drink it all up: the galaxies, the mountains and the
pink painted sunsets, sleeping in soft meadows,
the expanse of the sea. I want you to have it all.
Lay your head down on me. Wrap your fingers in mine.
Let me care for you. Let me see your smile.
Let me have the space and the time to be vulnerable.
The magic in this is that we are our own people,
with our own lives, our own passions,
our own battles, our own demons. And yet,
we’ve grown slightly together,
we’ve shared stories and fears and sadness,
together we have made choices
to share just the tiniest bit of our lives
with someone, with each other,
and I hope that the stars sing you the sweetest lullaby tonight.

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This is everything

I believe in God
in the holy layers of the Universe
I believe in Jack Kerouac and the Beats
the Fate that exists to get me where I am meant to exist
I believe in sweet people who are there
who tell me I am Weird.

I believe in my Father
I believe in my Mother who gave
birth to me
I believe in making mistakes
in solitude
gentle Wilderness
in going down so deep
but always crawling out.

I believe in the Good and the Bad
in making mistakes
seeking happiness
and the importance of Self.

I believe in rebirth
failure
laughter
pain
I believe in pushing yourself
I believe in Passion
in hunger
in heartbreak
in panic attacks
in dark places
and in finding the Light.

I believe in holy nights
and the even more holy sunrise:

this is Life
this is all there is
all there will ever be
this is everything.

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Rocks and Stardust

Mozart played the piano not only because he was good at it, but because he could lose himself in the keys and the symphonies. Floating away as if there was nothing else in the world, nothing as of importance more important than what you’re currently engulfed in.

People do what they love, do what they’re passionate about,
do what makes their hearts expand and fill up and pour over on top of themselves,
because it makes us feel alive. It moves the dust. 

When people have someone to share their passions with (or passion itself.. or the idea of passion), people lose themselves in each other, tossing and turning and yearning for something that they feel they don’t have and need to find it in another human being.

Is it in their body or their soul? It should be in both. Together. At the same time. It’s the dust that makes us up.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, is what people say when one’s buried, when one has died. We are made of dust (some say we’re made of stardust) and when we die we’ll again become dust.

But while people are still here, if they don’t have anyone to share their passions with, some people lose themselves in themselves. Tossing and turning and yearning for something that they think they can create for themselves eyes closed breath held usually letting themselves down in some way or another.

That almost painful heartfelt feeling bursting at the seems like you’re a shirt that’s too small for your arm muscles, like you pour a glass of cold milk to the brim and a little bit flows over the side. It’s weird that it’s painful, that happiness (or is it emptiness…?) can make you feel that way. And maybe it’s just me, feeling like my heart breaks all over again.

I think of T.S. Eliot and where my life is that I’ve lost in living… Or is it Life. A capital L makes all the difference doesn’t it? It creates the perspective (… or allusion) of a Life holier, mightier, more powerful and mysterious than mine own.

“O perpetual revolution of configured stars…
…All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death”!
 

I’d pray for wisdom and knowledge, understanding of why hearts hurt, why hearts break, how can an internal organ that sustains our existence feel like it can contain so much physical pain? I’d pray for these things, but I don’t honestly thing they’ll ever come.

“The cycles of Heaven in twenty centuries
Bring us farther from God and neared to the Dust.”

What is My Rock?

To find something that holds you in place, say, that grounds you, that prevents you from flying off into the universe (oh, but may we ever impact the Universe?) and swirling around into sparkles and dust, to find something like that is so rare, so unique, it’s never spoken of. For some people it’s vices like drugs and alcohol, and I guess for others it’s love, or marriage, or occasionally both. For many it’s their career, their family, their education. Still, I think these are all temporary, nonconcrete rocks.

“The Rock. The Watcher. The Stranger”

Maybe it’s not a thing (or things) we should be searching for, but rather a someone, a who. Maybe it is God. Maybe it is the Universe. MAYBE IT’S OURSELVES. Perhaps we’re not meant to be grounded but we are meant to be dust (the good kind, the holy and innocent kind), poured out from our burnt and charred insides to be picked up again by the winds of the worlds and thrown and strewn about, sometimes rapidly, sometimes gently, sprinkling stars (LIGHT) among the universe. 

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