Flighty mind be harnessed.
By the power of my will.
Obey my orders grandly.
My every wish fulfill.
Let down thy guard
for a moment.
Play this game with me.
for then, if in that moment only
all mine, you'll finally be.

The silence feeds me.
It teaches me.
It listens to me.
The soft echos that you
can hear on the wind
speak of the emotion,
the excitement,
in the world.
And when they are gone
and only silence remains
it leaves the residue of
a different emotion
deeper--clearer.
the emotion I feel
for once
is my own.

Sometimes I feel as though I am on the edge of a break through. Some great discovery about life. The wind pushes my hair from my face and birds cry in the distance. Somewhere a ways off the water laps against the rocks of the river and the peace starts to swell...and then it is gone. It was only an instant. And that peace leaves me more confused and aware of my blindness.
But am I the one pulling away from the peace? Does it scare me to know because then, maybe, I'd have to rely on it? Would I rather follow blindly than walk with my eyes open? Or am I really just not ready yet for what that peace--those answers--would mean?

Rocks and Sand

Do the rocks feel themselves being worn slowly by the waves? Do they understand that wearing down? Can they feel it? As each grain of sand is lost, do they resist the change? Or are they happy? Content to know their change is good. Content to know that while the waves whip wildly about them that what they are becoming will no longer be independent and breakable--but part of a greater whole? Can I understand the significance of that change?

Little rock, did you used to be a mountain?
Did you cause man kind to shutter and shake?
Little rock did you used to be a wonder?
Snow capped peaks or an icy lake?
Little rock, can I hold you forever?
And this be for me to move more?
Little rock, you can be my mountain.
Because I know what you were before.

My greatest desire is simplicity...but simplicity can only be afforded by the Great.

In my mind.

My heart dreams bigger dreams than myself.
It sees the trees and says, "I am Tree."
It sees the mountains and says, "I am Mountain."
It sees the sky and says, "I am Sky."

"No," I tell my dreams. "You are mist."
"No," I tell my dreams. "You are air."
"No," I tell my dreams. "You are a thought."

"Then I surround the trees." My dreams persist.
"Then the oceans are my mother, the skies my friend and I fly higher than the mountains."

"No," I tell my dreams. "You are just imagination."

"Then I am Ideal. Then I am Desire. Then I am Hope

"No," I tell my dreams. "You're not."

"Yes. I am."