i wish

in the morning, that I could pour my tiredness into a sparkly capsule and drink it at bedtime.

in the night, that I could pour my energy into a cup and drink it with my breakfast cereal.

–  childhood thoughts

I wish in the times I felt hopeless / depressed / scared – 

I could remember how wonderful it is to be alive, all that I have access to,

to create, to do, to experience & give.

– Oct 27, 2016

the Bohemian by the sea

does it matter that you can feel the warmth of the sunlight on your shoulders, the salty sea breeze in your hair, and at the same time, see the storm clouds up ahead?

does it matter that the sea holds immense sadness in its depths, and yet at the same time reflects the joy of the sun in the glinting rhythm of waves?

do these things matter? do they have a place in business? in finance? amongst skyscrapers? alongside ships that carry cargo from one place to the next?

can someone say that it is okay to honor the new and mourn the lost all in the same moment? all in the same day. can someone shout this from the rooftops and whisper it in the shadows? instead of this. this silence. this, unspoken name. this covering up with words of new.

can someone tell the masses, “it is okay to not be okay on this day.” or even the next.

it is o.k.

it is okay.

it is ok to not live in the binary. in the ‘either or’ but to let things co-exist, mash, intertwine. mix.

binary is not how it always is anyways.

it’s not how it ever was.

teetering

between hopelessly hopeless and infinitely infinite. 

rewriting the same story over and over again.

the same thought swimming around in your mind,

“hey, i think i’ve seen that tree before.”

looking back to see 

you’ve been forever stretched, like a gum of rope,

from one end to another,

weathering a great and beautiful expanse – 

for what?

it is yet to be seen.

even the darkest nights have stars

in fact, that’s when they shine even brighter

and the ones that were invisible before – this is when the world first sees them glimmer

(but don’t you know, they’ve been shining on their own all along).

we aren’t left to fend for ourselves in the dark –

each night, we are tucked in with a translucent blanket of majesty – threaded with periwinkle-navy and deep blue,

glittered with layers and layers of frosted twinkles – if your hand could reach out to touch it, you’d move the stars.

you can’t beat the air here, especially after it’s rained – dew brings you an ice-cold brew (essence of tree bark, the red kind). night mixes it with cool. nostrils try to sip in summer’s glass, but the flavor always just lingers on the tip of the tongue – taste buds singing for more.

so you lay down, cold sidewalk beneath, and dream.

and you get up – and dance with your arms held high.

the state of (in)between

the process. the practice. the journey.

we think of it in agony. sometimes. often. panic/excitement/anguish.

we forget that it is…

the art of making. of baking pies (blueberry). the anticipation of sweet reward. that which makes making so sweet. and sour.

but have hope. take courage. squeeze out every bit of confidence. because once it has passed. it is only memory.