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I have many Ideas. I ponder over them like an obsessive collector; organizing, re-organizing, packing them into words so the meaning is captured, transferable. Most of my transformative experiences are unexplainable - how does one capture the depth of a still, silent night? The whispering of leaves in warm summer breezes. Vague feelings of wholism while sitting in the grass, photosynthesizing like plant ancestors - a fish swims without direction. Many call it god but the church is alienating; the word massacred and butchered beyond the recognition of what it once meant.
One idea I have kept unmolested by the opinions of others, is that these holistic experiences in nature, with friends, live music shows, where the pulse of life beats strongly, are everything. An anchor point for a life well lived. Itâs not enough to just be in nature, alchemizing the circumstance missing the key ingredient. A couple of friends and I went on a trip to where the ocean went on forever, unbroken horizon. We were down by the water, sunset and glistening, warmth of the sun and sand beneath my feet. But it was nothing more than looking. I did not have access to this other way of being - locked out, truthfully, by being eaten alive by the stress of exams and stewing in the feelings of being unlovable. It is somehow within you; the trees and ocean reflect it back to me. A quality of self brought out by sincerity and solitude. Itâs everything, reflected in everything worthwhile.
Apr 17, 2024
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there is something figuratively beautiful about the things we know and donât know, the sublime and mundane
and when you visit the beach, do you ever think about if the animals who live in the embrace of the depths remember the beauty of the ocean?
where the salt envelops every single one of us,Â
accepting us as kin
letting her wind tousle our raw, visceral edgesÂ
and pepper them with her sea-foamed kissesÂ
which tell me that itâs okay to pretend
and okay to tell the ocean all of myself
the ocean reaches out to me, hands cloaked in the sharp coolness of water and something else- something i donât understand
as I poke around in a tide pool, like a vendor at a bustling market, observing the wares that the ocean has to offer
and i turn around and ask her, do the barnacles see themselves? do anemones understand their own beauty, fragile and ephemeral?Â
i donât think they do.Â
but the ocean doesnât have any words for me, instead shutting my mouth with a shhhhÂ
as her sandy dress rustles down the shore, laced with white foam and gossamer trails of ripples
and wordlessly, tells me to lookÂ
and i do.Â
until the sun hurriedly retreats from the wispy radiance of the moon, enrobed in puffy clouds
and it's just the three of us.
the moon tugs at the oceanâs hand, dancing to their own secret rhythm,Â
letting me see them in their love.
personally, i think itâs beautiful \\ and i wish i had something like it
and the ocean laughs. nothing jeering or ridiculing, simply an acknowledgement that i understand.
everything around me falls,Â
like petals cast off from a chrysanthemum.
and then, we were wordlessÂ
like the ocean had never spoken in the first place.Â
i want to descend into the depths of the ocean one day,
to be hugged once more and never again.
not because i am tired of being alive,
but frankly within me exists too much zeal to live.
uncontrollable surges of wow i am alive in flesh, blood through my veins, and thoughts in my head
become more addictive than any form of fentanyl, cocaine, heroinÂ
and better than any gateway into a better lifeÂ
or a better existence, transcending normality
and the moment itâs just me in my head, without the viscous energy of being alive
suddenly drains me like a leaking bucket,
decrepit and dry.
i want to burn like a torch, setting my world alight into embers,
into flames,Â
into an inferno.Â
Sunrise:: being alight || with a halo of only thoughts and dreams || and the divinity of something new
May 2, 2025
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a couple months ago I'm out behind the gabled house with dregs of home still seeping through its edges, a sharp sort of newness ripping the seams of who I am & who I was, sweaty fingers slipping from between each other with the bloodied grasp of desperation - it is a spring day, and I am here again. the leaves are new and the blinking infant furled in the strands of my chest takes a breath and every time I trudge through these vine-ridden woods I feel her grubby hands trace the creases in my ribcage. there are ghosts here, the soulmate-friend across the ocean and I and the way we'd take axes to the already-fallen trees like our anger was spraying away with the bark and we were left with only breeze. there are the phantoms of our hands stuck in the mud, ripped leaves beneath our fingernails as we unclogged the flow of the creek and watched the water dig its trenches deeper, and now i'm watching it capture the light of a new year in my hometown alone. through the leaves and over the tinny chorus of water-on-rock I hear the echoes of a mother calling to her children in a game of hide-and-seek, her children laughing, the clamor of it like a memory captured on tape and played back. there is a hole here, radio waves rippling through years folded back and punched through, I a bystander to the reminiscence of a stranger years down the line when some part of that laughter will be lost. it is here. it is here now, in the backyard of a house I sometimes call home.
May 5, 2025
For someone who claims to identify so closely with solitude, uncovering just how tethered I was to the emotions of people I love was a crispy realization. Of course, that attachment is the basis for any kind of relationship. You cannot claim to âhave someoneâ in your life if you do not feel some kind of emotional connection towards them. The stronger the connection, the stronger the relationship. We all know this. However, there is something to be said about a relationship that is âtoo goodâ; a bond so strong due to its shocking lack of tension. In hindsight of various broken and fragmented connections Iâve been apart of, any relationship that exists while remaining entirely unscathed now kind of terrifies me.
I believe there can be such a thing as âtoo much loveâ, and I think those who have given or received it know when they have done so. Itâs a mistake anyone is capable of making. Imagine a relationship so polished, free from any erosion (visible or otherwise); seemingly perfect. This type of connection can only be established through a building of trust and an abundance of time. However, Iâve come to learn that the more impeccable bonds tend to break easy when faced with their first real blow. Birds only crash into the cleanest of glass.
*"If music be the food of love, play on; / Give me excess of it...*"
I donât want excess. For the food of love, I am no glutton. I eat until I am full and push my plate aside. I used to love like my life depended on it. I put those people whom I adored on the highest of pedestals, framed them in my gallery and admired new details every time we shared a visit. Maybe I just hadnât been wronged enough to ever think that I could be wounded by those I dote on so heavily. What is it with loving and being loved that makes feeling hurt seem so impossible? Why must love shatter all preconceived expectations of what emotion is? Is love really so massive, so gargantuan that it conquers all other feeling?
Yes, and no. At least thatâs what I think. This is all just what I think. I donât want to come across as some great romantic or lovesick puppy or old friend. Iâm just trying to figure out the right way to love, like everyone else.
Mar 16, 2025
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Ripping into fruits on a hot summers day, juice dribbling down my exposed chest pooling at my feet. Sitting in cool river streams, a part of the natural world around me. Not a thought beyond the immediate. Stuff like that.
Jul 10, 2024
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This year has been long and difficult - one extended sit-in forced to reconcile with myself. Though I wouldnât change it for nothing, this year of constructive stress, I spent the majority of it stuck in feeling I needed other people to understand me. I have felt as if I were split open and bleeding; they know too much of me, the wrong parts of me, making incorrect assumptions. Or worse, correct ones and I donât know who I am. I donât know which parts of me to fix or to rather tolerate a blanket acceptance of all the traits and habits that make me who I am, even the ones I feel make me intolerable.Â
I have come to a reconciliation on this but maybe only due to the sun returning and flowers blooming. Stumbled upon this video, itâs good if ur curious. I think a lot of people can relate to desperately wanting, clawing for a romantic relationship. More specifically, we look for someone who understands, someone who fills the aloneness. I do not know if such a thing is possible; always, there is space between this person and the next. Even in an embracing intimate seclusion with another, there are gaps and crevasses unreachable, unspeakable, nothing with which to tend to these deep gorges of separation. What to do about this? So much of myself I do not understand.
Apr 24, 2024