is everything not a doorway? a painting, a poem, a ray of light. tilt shift happens unexpectedly and the whole world slips sideways as time stands still.
i was driving in the rain and everything was grey. i couldn’t help but wonder if i had gotten it wrong. if i had somehow messed up, missed my chance, made some drastic mistake. there is a wild wolf howling inside and i am not sure if she is my salvation or hunting me down to eat me alive. the saying says it depends on who i feed, but i rather doubt it’s as simple as all that. it is an ever constant dance. of both. and. the confusing mystery of abstract textures happening simultaneously. a quiet underwater chaos of being submerged in self. why does one feel so lonely, caught in the net of not nice words, doubting the already lived detours, unraveling the red threads that have woven magic carpets in other times.
sometimes a certain light in afternoon can take my breath away, gold pours out of sky like slides from heaven. i have not yet learned how to slide upward. i puzzle on the ground, soundless, enamored, sliced open by the light. and all that i know is my heart beats red and ready, hungry for the shimmer of gold everywhere and the nostalgic essence of wrinkled time where ancient wisdom melts into modern moments and childhood joy slides into future formations.
i love when i drive and it's sunny and i can’t help but play the music loud and roll all the windows down and open the sunroof wide. i want the music louder. i want to get inside it. i want to drive forever in the feeling of aliveness. i want to be the vibration of sound. i want to build a nest inside this pleasure. i drive. i let the music move in me. nothing matters, not even where i’m going. i simply emerge into the moment fresh, focused, fully here as my tires roll across the road.
there are so many doorways, portals, shifting tilts to reality. and likely we can change our minds in a moment. we can shift on a whim and uncover more of who we are or how we are. we can tilt in or draw back. we can discover our own becoming.
i am the crone not yet grown. i am the wisdom waiting. i am the sinkhole of despair. i am the agony of alone. i am the torch with wings that soars across the sky. people catch my light and make wishes. for us both, i hope they come true.