Monologue to Music and Nature
'I'm trying to understand the statements of your beauty...'
Swallow me whole.
Down into the Earth and life-giving Death below,
Why? Because...
I want to be part of your everything, even though compared to you I am nothing.
The air fills my sighs and breathes its wind,
The birds still fly, at least those that remain.
I'm looking for the answers to the questions I can't yet (or will never) ask.
But they'll be there whether I look for them or not.
I'm trying to understand the statements of your beauty, the lessons you'll teach me without a single verbal word.
In order for this to happen...
I know it'll mean I'll have to die again, like the death inside me at birth from these lies I was born into...
...and become reborn.
But it's what you have to say. No matter the cost, I have to listen.
About the Creator
Hector Castaneda
Musician. Writer. Poet. Adventurer. Thinker. Jack of all trades, master of none.
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar4 days ago in Feast
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