How could I?

How could I be this naïve to ask for love?
To pray for its softness and fire so that I may melt all of me, finally into you
How could I be so foolish to ask for love when I wouldn't know love other than a fantasy?
A dream I dream every night and most days, because the more I unravel and see of myself, the clearer you get

How could I dare beg of the stars and study the tides for your coming, when I have never felt your arms around me, fingers intertwine, or my head on your chest?
When I can hardly remember how it feels to find home in anothers' heartbeat.  


How could I? How can I possibly sing or write or color the pages of a wish for you when i haven't felt the kiss of your mouth upon mine?
When I haven't lured or been lured into another's soul properly and feverishly

I know nothing of love
I beg the Gods of its grace but I know nothing
To anticipate your love is a disservice to it
Asking for an idea of a force far greater I could conjure, and yet it is a human's condition to salivate at the thought of food

I have wondered about this deep love
A thirst quenching messy hair lost in heaven kind of love
Shake life alive again
That kind of love
And here I go again, giving words and context to a person, a spirit yet to declare itself

Thanking you before you have even obliged.

How could I be this naïve to float at the thrill of you when your entrance has yet to be made?

Desire

Oh, Desire. 

You propel me forward and my impatience plays its tricks. 

I question your arrival. 

I question my worthiness of you, pointing to the time it has taken to receive you. 

The expectation, questioning a Divine inevitable unfolding. 

Measuring my value against the mounting expectations between sun rises and sets.

Then again, creativity can only live where unfinished process exists. 

As I am. 

As we all are; Divinely unfinished

Creativity is given life in the space of the unresolved. 

Isn't the defined, where possibility ends? 

If we are to meet our desires, may it be with an exhilarating reflection of the endless possibilities in each of us. May we only know of our desires by following our overflowing joy of unearthing curiosities. May we fall in love with our mysteries. 

The greatest desires meet us as though we have known them our entire lives; and they simultaneously  become a gift far greater than we could have designed for ourselves. 

We trust the wonder at our feet. 

I'm learning. Desire, I'm finally learning. 

Allowing a timing that shocks our logical minds and inevitably knocks our socks off.  

Allowing to keep growing with space and connection; 

silence and touch. 

The unknown and felt. 

Living and breathing. 

Never fully arriving. 

Forever unfolding...

As It Was - As It Came to Be

Don't let the voices steer you away

Especially your own 

Do it now

Before you are even close to ready

At the onset of the vision 

Do it all too seemingly prematurely 

That is where you allow the magic to find you

Where the reason is most pure

Directly connected to your essence 

Where the heart is loudest 

Before the virtue of the mind takes over and alters its form;

stagnating all opening

Honor the Divine calling in its glory by obliging 

A moment's pause in pondering the outcomes will only vanish the possibility. 

And oh, what a bitter taste and robbery of a heartbeat, when the moment has passed. 

The moment, leaving you, just as you abandoned it by waiting in vein. 

Regret is a muddied tunnel, useless in visiting. 

A mouthful leaving you hungry. 

Lest when its ghost insists on paying a visit, as a gift for the next time you should hesitate to taste the dream dripping from your chin. 

What I could have been. 

How tall I could have grown. 

How gracefully I could have lived. 

I ignored the best parts of me. 

I clipped my wings. 

I sewed my tongue. 

Music for on one else to hear; turned into factory inspiration hymns. 

I hid. 

I hid my one precious spirit. 

Have I forsaken you? 

Tell me how I can love you. 

How can I begin to repair the silencing I have made of you? 

The oppression I projected onto you. 

How can I proclaim your beauty to the world? 

I hope I can help your fair skin trust in the sun again. 

Tell me were to begin again. 

In the delicate sweetness of ripe nectar already lived. 

Guide me to raise the ground to meet your footing. 

I am here. 

I am finally here. 

This balance; Acknowledging as life is here now, dancing with this friction. 

The questioning of what could have been, pulling away from what is. 

Back and forth, pulling away from feeling unsettled. 

Only to someday notice that this seemingly backwards force, was actually positioning for a trajectory towards your evolution. 

Finding yourself elsewhere where you thought you would be. 

Finding yourself where a soul more expansive than you had envisioned

You were destined to meet this moment now. 

Where the tenderness of what could have been, bows to life as it was. 

Where with every breath, you discover yourself allowing a new life to happen for you. 

In your honor 

As it came to be

Honoring Ourselves

My son was born an artist. I've felt it long before I had the proof by watching him. Before we met, I knew. He is a wonder. Feed him love and watch him fly. He comes alive when he expresses himself. He lights up. When he creates by playing a part, or speaking in an accent, or making up a song, there is no right or wrong. In that moment, his life is his. His spirit is untouchable. His Universe belongs to no one else. He hides it from no one.

He's been drawing lately and he's good. Remarkably good. This isn't just mama talkin'.

Lately, his head has been interfering with his process. He stops, gets frustrated, shuts down, and starts measuring his value. He says he can't draw. He succumbs to the questioning he's confronting. He does that with math. Always a right and a wrong answer. His heart doesn't speak that language, you see? He overwhelms himself at the thought that he needs to be a certain way under certain subjects. It's not natural to him. It's not natural for any of us. We have just forgotten.

My heart breaks. It breaks because I can easily relate to the feeling. I realize that it's my adult relating to the growing person inside of him. I recognize that I'm observing my child filling with fog, we adults work so hard to clear. The fog of questioning and worrying about our worth. The fog that freezes us from being freely us. We become experts at watching it come and fanning it thinner. If we even find the courage to try at all.

It becomes my duty to remind him. To open a window. To bring him back to what will always be true. This is the child we need to continually nourish and listen to. The knowing voice we must allow to lead the way.

You are enough.

Please make art with your life and tell us about it. Surprise yourself. You are a wonder. A continuously unfolding masterpiece. Let the unknown guide you. an exquisite life is in living the questions. Playfully. Imperfectly. A child does not measure how much they don't know. They laugh at the nonsense of mistakes. They find themselves in awe of what they discover at their feet. May you bow to your inner child; always in awe by what is at yours.

'...to the child whom this grown-up once was. All grown-ups were children first. But few of them remember'     ~ Antoine De Saint-Exupery   ~ The Little Prince

I hope you allow yourself a lifetime of remembering