Sandwich.

 I wonder if its odd or unusual to feel both inextricably connected and profoundly alone all at once.

There is a feeling in my ....body? My spirit? My awareness somehow, that there is far more to the story of being than I could ever imagine on my own. A way in which I am... we are... tethered to the everything by an imperceptible thread no wider than the silk of a spider's web.

And yet, in the density and tumble bumble of this earthly existence, even in proximity to those who appear to love me. Like me. Want to know me. Value me, there is this invisible chasm. A moat of distance that can't be seen with eyes, but feels like the distance between galaxies. Maybe more.

How is this dichotomy possible? Both awarenesses as real as the other.  

Is it my mind that demands duality in battle with the All that knows there is only one thing?  That I am a drop of the everything that holds the hologram of it all, even when I can't see it?

Maybe.  

I think I'll make a sandwich.

Anymore

 I don't live in the finger of land that pokes into the Caribbean. Azure blue kissing shores all around.

I don't live in the place where iguanas share my space. Sunbathing along my pool and sleeping high in the fronds.

I don't live surrounded by the brightest of greens, the pinks and oranges and yellows and blues and purples and greens and greens and greens,

I don't live near the secret places that delighted my senses and my soul. Places where we recognized each other. Places that gently touched my soul and danced with my heart.

I don't live near the people that I met. The ones that made me laugh or felt like a safe place to fall. 

I don't live next to a person that doesn't see value in all people, and the house that yells at passers by with the flags that speak their dark truth.

I don't live where holidays bring sounds of war for what feels like days.

I don't live where the highway of water is filled with boats, claiming that their way is the only right way, making those who see it feel small and unclaimed.

I don't live near the places that sell glitter and gold, and where the people that prop up the diamond signs are spoken of like detritus.

I don't live in a place where the air carries rigidity and individualism and soot, making it hard for a spirit to breathe.

Anymore.

Passport Approved

 

What has happened?

Has it changed, or has it just changed for me?

It's as if beneath the star spangled banner, under which we have been taught that woven into our flag is freedom of speech, celebration of being, safety and protection, and integrity to the bones of our beginning,

lies 

rot.

fear.

anger.

hatred.

disgust.

supremacy.

religious dogma.

violence.

There are many that look at my horror with a smirk. They have always seen it, felt it, lived it, breathed it, and worked 

every.

single.

moment to survive it. My white skin, my suburban upbringing, my inherited wealth, my lack of need to assimilate... 

as the scent, the look, the way of my being is ... approved.

My US passport stamped. Nothing to alter or fix or be suspicious about.

And, now, my way of being hurts. For I see how it has left so many people, humans, loves, souls behind to flail in the waves of oppression as I fan my face from the comfort of the boat.

Pages

 The pages of the calendar, covered with marks and dates, events and names

flip

flip

flip

I can see them in my mind. The wind blowing them away, rain drenching them, the sun drying them and leaving them like crumpled autumn leaves

Where was I in those pages?

I can feel myself, but I don't see myself when I look at them.

As I have sat in my spot, watching the pages curl at the edges and tear away from now, 

The body I am in has changed. Softened. loosened. Whispers of ache that feel familiar now, but  new at the same time.

Holding a cup of hot something, I watch, knowing that one day my calendar pages will be gone.

The pages of others will continue to fly away, filling the universe with dates and events and people's names.

Maybe that's what the stars are.