only.

IMG_20160123_181124

of winter and the war. at this point i only care for what will bring me back to life.. happy (belated) snowstorm, nyc.

“you must not give way to desires which you don’t believe in. i know what you desire. you should, however, either be capable of renouncing these desires or feel wholly justified in having them. once you are able to make your request in such a way that you will be quite certain of its fulfillment, then the fulfillment will come. but at present you alternate between desire and renunciation and are afraid all the time. all that must be overcome.”

“i have been and still am a seeker, but i have ceased to question stars and books; i have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. my story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams- like the lives of all men who stop deceiving themselves.”

-hesse, ‘demian.’

IMG_20160124_140918

when i dream it’s of us looking down, watching everyone else from the heavens.
-s.w.

i kiss you in the space
where wings should be
place my fingers
on your ribs
where candles could be
you’d think our hearts
would be tired of this
by now
but the snow is enough
pull up the blankets
fold back into
the memory.
there are never enough
words about you
scribbled in half-light
with white-out outside
slipping in like
reality under sheets of
perception
you have always been
beautiful enough
to make me forget
everything
else-
and so i
fit myself against you
like a prayer
i somehow still remember
how to say.
your body-
tones to some
other world
i am following
my own
sunken footsteps to
winter, reprise-
again.
how many times
can you write and
rewrite
your skin it
makes these
words, my
body remembers
to trust you
in these
frigid days
the first and last place
to ever truly find
the only warmth that
could receive me-
only.
i am writing you again
when i swore i wouldn’t
your flesh under my pen,
hot.
like the whispers you make
in sanctuary,
half gracious, half afraid,
when something other than god
breathes the chill
into the wind-
our legends are dead..
sleep until
the winter light
seems brighter
than the rest-
no page could contain
you..
your foot against mine
twitches
sinking into
snow footprints
on the other side,
are you
following me
this time?
if i could
slip this pen
between your
bones i’d say
leave it there
because
there’s always
something else
to be written,
rewritten
black ink, my
name
scribbled over
lost fingertips
of those who
touched you
while i was
gone
is it
possible
to rewrite a
memory?
trust my
hands
because
the words came
from there too
and the hands
take work
the ways they
make you
understand
in ways the
heart never
could
i am doing
this work
right now
for another winter
too long to
remember
separation
too short to
ever
ever
forget.
i kiss the space
where your wings
should be
because i still
remember
they could.
words are hands
and hands are
prayer
alive, tonight.
i light the
candle where
your rib
should be
god’s unsteady
hand
cracked
that bone
when he made
me.
he knew
the two
of us
wouldn’t learn
enough
if we were
complete..
sleepwalking
back
to the origin story
in a blizzard.
isn’t that just
what we
always
do?
trust the hands
when the
heart
can’t see-
another winter
in our
muscle
memory.

IMG_20160123_233050

om agnaye namaha,

XO

a.

for the one who needs to climb to understand.

Screen Shot 2016-01-16 at 1.30.51 PM

“when we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: be still! be still! look at me! life is not easy, life is not difficult. those are childish thoughts… home is neither here nor there. home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.” -hesse

trees are extremely close to my psychic sense of self.. in fact, on a morning in which i had given away some keys to an old life- i climbed the tree in that photo at the edge of astoria park and found- another key, tied to a red string. life is all about the symbology we apply to it, the meaning we ourselves ascribe.. or else there is nothing. i will never forget how- in my heartache and restlessness i sat, read, communed, and wrote stories up in my favorite tree in fort greene part in brooklyn (which i later discovered was named by a little girl i ran into as ‘the grandmother tree’.. perhaps my nana sent me another grandmother on earth..?). i have beautiful memories of climbing trees with my brother and sister in rainey park in long island city- teaching my sister how to trust her wildness, my own self being spurred on by her presence to climb higher, abandon my fear. this piece came out of an interaction this morning- and i was just thinking of how i haven’t posted something non-event related in awhile.. here you are. thanks for the inspiration. and thanks to my brothers & sisters. the trees.

**

i am doing what i know. i cannot do what i cannot know. and so i do this. do not tell me not to climb the trees. to touch them, to trust them with my body, to be held by them as they hold me in psychic spirit, to rest, to receive. do you remember your girl-self, the explorer, who could only touch to understand- to press against, to peer, to look, to feel? eyes are hands sometimes. bodies are all points of an eight-sided starburst, each point a perceptor, antennae- in my vision the bears and birds gave me their feathers and furs- i am just beginning to remember the reason why. do not tell me not to climb the trees- how you anchor my movements in ego, the cement that sticks to my wild bones, hardening, separating- my soul from sinew, my song from self, the trees i give, they give, we give to each other. i feel their LIVING HEART, not as mere idea, but BREATHING- we complete the sacred circle, i hear their energy in my head. have you forgotten the will of palpability? of feelings beyond discernment from afar, ribbons of judgment cast down from lofty windows, tangled in branches of trees- why yes, i am sitting in. i feel as creature, i must do as creature, this is what makes me think without discord, perceive without pretense, REMEMBER that i can talk to souls that communicate without limiting sound-words through limited language i can no longer hear when my chest is pressed up against the bark so tight we can feel each other’s intention. love so purely encircling it is like the infinite warrior guardian i want to know how to be.. can be. if the trees teach me this, teach you this- why halt the force of echo, remembrance? i can only do what i know, just as you can. and this is what i know: i will climb the trees until my body can no longer. wild and grateful, still, to be healed by the medicine of my memory. do not pretend to know more than i know about the earth and what it wants, the trees and what they feel, my heart and what their hearts need to feel. i can hear them and so can you. we all know the same, we all know nothing, we are all prostrate before the altar of learning, listening- what you hear is different from what i hear, and that is okay. let the trees be. i am, i say, i am. i am feeling, holding, releasing, dreaming, reading, gazing, blessing, infinitely talking, feeling, seeing. to them, with them, as them. i hear them too loud to let them be. they hear me too loud to let me be. we are. being. .. are you?

XO

a.