Thoughts come out

I felt like writing something.
Today was wonderful, and so many emotions are crashing through me that I am almost overwhelmed. But not enough to fail to recognize the significance of it.
Even while lying on my bed, full of delicious Chinese food and exhausted from an afternoon at the river, I am utterly content to be still and feel.
The tingling in my arms as they release and relax, the heaviness of my legs as they let go of the burden they've carried for all of the day, my spine releasing all tension and stress, my breath as it slows.
My mind goes as fast as it usually does;
thoughts flicker in and out, some morphing, some simply vanishing from consciousness and waiting to pop up at a later time. I can see the glimmer of my nose ring when I look down, pausing,
waiting for the next thought to flow from the pads of my fingers.

Utter contentment.

I'm not going to talk about the celebrity deaths that have occurred, though they are on my mind. I feel the weight of that loss, surely, yet a rising up and floating outward presents itself even in the most dire of times.
Poetry is born from death, and I am certain that this time is no different.
I sometimes imagine what it would be like if those close to me died suddenly. It happens more often than we would like to think, and although it seems a morbid situation to dream of, I do still.
I imagine what I would feel, what I would do and think, to the point where I begin to feel those things. I may start to cry, or feel the empty cradling gap that aches so.
Yet it doesn't take over, so that I am consumed by it. It is almost like temporarily visiting that place of disorientation to touch a moment of reality that we repeatedly come across but never linger at. Except when
poets express that moment in poems,
song writers in their lyric,
the musician in their draw of notes that pattern pure emotion, or
painters in their swabs of paint or charcoal pressed into canvas and paper with painful intention.


It strikes me as amusing
whenever I realize I to care about someone more than I originally was aware of.
That “Oh... shit,” or “Oh good lord, it's happening again” thought flits through my head before I proceed to obsess over what it means,
what I'm going to do,
and all that fantastic stuff that I'm sure we've all experienced at one point or another.
It's not as if I can simply avoid the sensations from occurring and transforming, and I wouldn't want to; but the uncertainty of the future nevertheless shakes my reserve.
I shall see where the hours and days and weeks take me.
At the very least I am grateful to have the gift of articulation, however limited its expression. I suspect it will be my closest friend through this, as honesty is my tried and true method, whatever the result it brings.
I reside in the shaky balance in utter contentment this evening, and will enjoy the moment as it lasts.


Yoga sounds like a splendid way to wrap up the day, don't you? I venture off!