Presence

Breath in. 5…4…3…2…one I saw a nix sitting on a branch of a fig tree, dipping her toes into the stream of water below her. creating ripples that waned and faded. She looked sad on this beautiful Armenian night, perhaps it was the shadow she carried that whispered chaos in her mind.

Breath out. 1…2..3.4 five, every living creature has a mind, and is therefore equally important. The Owl on the spitz of the old fig was not more relevant than the Nix, and my life is worth the same as hers. I wondered if she could have been sad because the presence of the moon on this night was divine and she wished she could bottle up the milky way and the falling stars, or she wasn’t mindful enough to realise she was more than the feelings she allowed to overwhelm her thoughts;

the state if mind where she wanted the night to schatter into broken shards, prick her skin so she could feel her life force… or anything really. swallow her whole and drop her off the face of the earth.

She couldn’t speak stillness to the old fig, or reach out to touch the elusive moon. The lines between her reality and her reflection were blurred by a spurring internal conflict that could be solved by a drop of presence.

On this beautiful Armenian night I crouched next to her and told her to live in the moment, exactly how it was, listening to her heart beat, not wanting more or expecting less. Every day nature weaves a balance of subtle miracles before our ever dreaming eyes. If we’re lucky, our hearts can capture every butterfly smile our irises have yet to see.

Pieces

Don’t you ever get weary of conjuring up chaos? of craving bits and pieces of Insanity? They have become as easy as the wishes that dwell in your thoughts.

it is the infallible thirst for peace that borrows a hole through your soul but life will happen regardless of what we choose;

No longer a stranger to failure for you have befriended the essence of cosmical madness

no longer threatened by the prophesies of imminent defeat.

The days of hiking down a steep hill, or swimming downstream, is expired

A little piece of you transforms into a gentle beast

a little piece of you floats with the wavy ocean that washes the faces of playing children.

Where did you go afterwards?

it takes a while to turn an orchid into marigold and a while longer to ignore the smell of your burning flesh.

And then the flames engulf your soothed skin and spits out a colour similar to lavender.

Like a thirst that could never be quenched latching onto spirit, so are you addicted to madness and the differences in between.

You are now a spool of blue poetic thread weaving itself around a brave zestful smile

You’d only just learnt that you are a soul that receives a body, and that forever and yesterday are one and the same.

Now that you have made peace with the turmoils brewing within you, what piece of you is willing to be shattered next?