The clay

I don’t spend too much time trying to replace memories with reason anymore. I guess I can only say that at the very end of this karmic phase.. the air rose up to breathe life into the center of the union. It was the exact same thing that night. You saw it from the corner of your eye, maybe heard it over the rain as we sped along. One small cry barely audible in the quiet of our bedroom. The warmth of your words and the challenges of healing. Your hands with mine formed the clay.

I am willing to visit those memories. And the Christmas’ and the solemn hidden truths of my addiction. But I’m not willing to live inside the pain and I can tell when we speak.. something again we share. A wholeness in ourselves as individuals. A completion like married to the other half.. no twin flame sharing one but completion like planets and still growing mountain ranges.

Last night’s moon is today’s moon and tomorrow is still a blank canvas for delusion, and creation. It’s ok to be inspired by the hope and want and matching and alignments of those that have unified in monogamous relationship with themselves. Think it over white wolf, all the other people we can be when joyously being ourselves.

(Special thanks to the clutter removed and the quiet unbroken)

Art credit: puppy playing with pheassant feather — Yi Am 1550