Lightning Blooms

The sun rises with reason in the morning and I lie awake far too long to maybe hear the whispers of the moon. It’s something lost and wandering, moments time doesn’t even exist anyway. And I am sweating now. Sweating with reason myself. Reason to be here and a reason to leave here. I am soaked in the knowing that lightning blooms like spring in the darkness. Flowers cutting and cracking across the sky - change is inevitable. I am change and I am inevitable. I am blooming and cutting and cracking across this life. Running from and too and nowhere all at once. I just crave these inevitabilities. These wild assuredies. The truth, so fibrous, it must be drawn with eight legs and silk to connect those bursting flowers in the night sky. Constellations or webs or knowledge. Largeness or smallness or all at once-ness. 

So with salt sticking to my skin and reason clinging to my mind - I move to rise with the sun. To forgo my craving for the moon and meet the sunburns where they feel best - in adventure. 

I rise and I wander into my day, like this day is an entirely different kind of day than the days I have had before. Like my senses have grown to understand texture as if it tastes of something sweeter. As if colors could sing melodies from planets we have yet to discover. As if screaming has become the very best breathing.  As if walking is the love-making my body has been craving. I rise with sweat and chaos and the burning desire to understand the fire that is living in this life. 

And thank fucking god I rise.

Because there are moments when I forget to love the way salt burns in my eyes. I forget how amazing it is to burn at all. To ache and to want and to get and to need. To live. Sometimes I convince myself of inevitabilities that bury me. Untruths like I will never get where I am going. Or that simply going isn’t where I am going. Whispers without silver or magic, just the deadness of a sky without hyacinth and aster. No silk. No connection. Hunger with a certainty that I will never be fed.

A series of inevitabilities that simply sink me.

But today I decided to imagine what my home would feel like without a ceiling. To let the rain wake me up in the morning. I imagined that the sun and the moon have a plan for me. Not a righteous one, but a sensational one. One with contrast and confusion so beautiful, I don’t care to find the answers. No right way, just any way. Just permission to play. Just living another day. 

And it’s exactly what I am searching for. In the moments so dark, I forget to pray for spider webs. In the minutes I hold my pain so close, it builds walls around me. Memories of faces that I am determined to keep vivid. Wounds so old, I need knives to get back into them. In those moments, all I am hoping for is to remember why the sun rises. Or how the moon whispers. And what she says when she believes in her light too. All I am wandering and seeking for, is the energy to see this world for what it truly is. 

Something wildly incomprehensible.