we can feel how a storm is coming. we are still those animals, still share every bit of this knowing.
opened the door to the garden, sat in front of it, took off my t-shirt, and let the air, carrying the rain, envelop me, let it come inside and take me, too. who am i to oppose.
oh, the smells. no one knows these smells. we always remember them, but then at the same time they are gone, and now i am sitting here, still smelling them, but i cannot describe them. who can write down a smell. who can write down placing your hand on the warm, breathing skin of someone else’s belly.
one song that accompanied me. November by Azure Ray, and it all was right. how could anything ever be wrong again.
it’s so little. it’s only a storm, only lightning, only thunder, only rain, only wind, only trees. it’s only me. that’s why nothing could ever be more. perhaps i speak in platitudes. i have no real weapons to do battle with what i am not capable of.
i would like the aftermath of a storm to be represented by a single, long, dry cello note.
and i had to think of the phrase “and then it flows through me like rain”. sometimes it is not hard to belong to a movie, especially when it’s real. where else would i ever want to be but here. now. where else. there is no else.
i wondered. could this be what dying feels like.
not the pain, just the letting go.
i looked at the trees in front of me, giving way to whatever may come, dancing like kites that flow so--effortlessly. and every... single... leaf... was so very much exploding with meaning. like it was all me, and i was all. like i am a leaf, over and over again, a part of all this -- because why shouldn’t i be.
why shouldn’t i be.