loving you is like walking in the door, warm
the snow soaks into my clothes
turning to water and
rinsing me clean
Even with the curtains shut, and no fireplace to be seen in my bachelor apartment, poem number 61 from ELLEGUYENCE gives me the sensation of looking out onto a crisp snowy landscape, frost on the glass and a fire crackling at my side.
What is the difference between that kind of coziness, and the feeling of love? Hot cocoa and kisses, flannel sheets and hugs. I have been pondering this without finding a factor that I can use to delineate those two sensations. Even though their origins may differ wildly, viscerally they feel so very similar to me, and I don’t mean this to trivialize love. Maybe the opposite.
your pillow is always the softest.
Whether it is the softest pillow I have ever held or the gentlest person I have ever known, these things jumble together to form gratitude. Snowy days are carrying away my wistfulness at another year’s leaves falling, and I’m happy to be sitting inside with my tea, re-reading Elle’s 61, which I think you should read too.
you said you never believed in luck
until you saw my chances
and cast a bet anyway.
Image from Pinterest.
A lavender whistle
petaled into me
like a feather
from an unseen canopy
I am not sure whether the being who speaks in What the World is Trying to Be is human at heart.
This, however, is probably idle speculation in the end. When I read pieces from Rumi and the Shadow, often the central character is as much of an enigma as the space between the lines.
There is a grace to characters and ideas expressed at Rumi and the Shadow which I find soothing. And I am not sure what the world is trying to be, but it is a new idea to daydream about, and to imagine a great tree (or man or treant) thinking about the same thing is somehow comforting.
Then, shaking this strange image
from its limbs
got up and stretched, saying,
“I am what the whole world is trying to be”
and washed its face
in the morning mist
Sleep slower, and maybe you’ll notice curious things. Be wary of using words like “indefinitely” – this comes with a poem:
Baby, I’ll crawl to you
across the vast mirage of time and space
should misfortune befall time itself
or the laws of physics break
It has been nearly a year since I first read the post “sleep slowly”, and the four lines of that poem still come back to me. Continue reading “Parallel Outlet: 11”