Only Yesterday

The sun will rise tomorrow,
As straight as the crow flies;

Daylight will come.

And it will be a good day for some,
And for others: one dark and tired

But I promise you this:

They’ve already decided –

For whether they know it or not:
Their day is upon them.

But –
Shall they meet us,
Perhaps then they will know what we do:

Which is that the¬†human heart – if¬†unafraid –
Shines right into the blind-spots of our souls,
That pulling darkness,
That invisible, secret shadow-side to each individual’s light

And should someone’s light throw shade on my shine
I am unafraid to use that yin,
And wear the black darkness about me like a cloak
So that I may once again slip in,
And explore the depths within this heart of mine –

Where I,
Brave and trusting,
Shall seek the light –
That yang-energy hiding behind the wound I have yet to find

And finding the sad thing
– As the seeker always does –
I will carefully remove the stitches,
Drenching the lonely sad plains in my soul with undiscovered parts of myself,
Where only yesterday,
I didn’t know I existed.

And when our wounds have been finally opened and examined,
We will be more whole –
Our wings once again dipped in gold,
We will have grown,
Not simply older,
But better, brighter, lovelier, and wiser –
Than we ever imagined,
Only yesterday

Goodnight Moon

Each day, we have but one day.

And reality is as real in the moment as it is false in others.

Sometimes, we merely need different mirrors in order to see beyond ourselves.

This weekend I saw beyond my own [mirrors], which gave me a glimpse into my future – the life I want.

And this life is mine.

I no longer wish to be smart. I no longer desire to impress myself.

All I want is honesty.

All I love is beauty.

And the only beauty is in being honest with yourself.

Goodnight moon.

 

Poetry and Prose: My Eucalyptus and Le Petit Mort

The Poem: My Eucalyptus

What happens when you no longer live under my moon.

Will your leaves still season each colorful breeze.

Will I find every leaf’s imprint in the shale of my mind.

Your gifts were more than shade and strength to lean upon. Your countenance will last forever.

You were my eucalyptus.

The Prose: Le Petit Mort

The little death. Like a deep breath, you quell the pain of all the guilt ridden sighs in my chest.

You see, sometimes I need a whirlpool for my brain. Normal is just a setting on the dryer she exclaimed. To which I proclaimed, that’s so refreshing I might just love you for it.

But the fairer sex cannot be the only tiny death I find.

You see, I am getting good at Le Petit Mort because I am finding ways to get better at La Vie.

When I was younger I believed that like the song says: ‘it’s better to feel pain than nothing at all’ and after all ‘the opposite of love is indifference’ so how could I have been any different.

I still forget the hangovers now and then and tie one on but thankfully I feel the need to suffer bad decisions only very rarely now and I think I might outgrow it.

I used to get stoned alone when I needed to press the reset button. Sometimes I still do.

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