Sweetness in the Storm

11.29.11
Oh my God.  I feel delirious with ...  What is this?  I can't quite grasp the feeling.  The sensations are a bubbling well in my belly - right behind my belly button.  I've just had coffee and I believe the caffeine is coursing enthusiastically in my veins throughout my body.  I feel enthralled and there's a mad desire for me to go sprinting on the beach and there's also a tightening around my chest from gulping shallow breaths.  It's as if I'm excited and the excitement isn't fully felt and gets stuck like I'm somehow holding energy back into my body.  So I'm not quite happy and I'm not quite upset and I'm not quite stuck.  Typical that I get to be multidimensional and dynamic:  “welcome to humanity,” Aurash would say.  I'm in deep appreciation BIG TIME.  For the people in my life who care about me, receiving my reach for them and seeing that I care quite a lot.  I feel seen.

12.02.11
Your body wants me and digests me on some days.  On most days your body isn't listened to and therefore the want of me stays slightly afloat, yellow on the branch.  My body wants yours and can't quite digest you.  My body yearns to be seen and served and given to and the nourishment stems from my loving.  Our bodies sometimes collide in the night and sometimes yours turn from mine and there is a quick pull, the orbit suddenly losing gravitation.  My body tries to follow while yours shut off its penetrable atmosphere and we become two lost bodies in space.  Instead of enjoying the autumn air I seek you out only to find that you are also dying.  There are other bodies trying to pull me in closer; I can only see the dying - I'm consumed by it.  I don't even notice that my body dies digging for what no longer serves me.  My face is turned away from the sun, and I can't even feel the chill of my breath touching your body.

12.05.11
The same returns.  I am insecure.  I question my love, my wanting, my longing.  I have it - why must I understand it or make it wrong?  It's not a part of my identity, it isn't ugly, and I don't have to suffer because of my love.  My love is beautiful.  It is sweet, it is powerful, and it rages and swoons and yells in the wind and whispers images of blue moons.  My love is a white room with white comforters.  My love is home and is foreign to no one.  I yearn to be loved in the same way that I love, and I believe that this is a journey that my life takes - a journey of giving that love to myself.  I accept that I have love and that I can't help but give it.  I don't want to redirect it and I don't want to be ashamed for having it.  I do want it for myself - this is clear.  I love him.  My love for him is water, running, ebbing, the flow altering at the behest of stones and soil, and continue my love goes, pouring stronger and stronger into the galaxies of my woman’s heart.  I love him.  I love him and I hurt when I love him.  I hurt when I open myself to him and he doesn't meet my gaze or respond to my poetry.  I hurt when he gets up in mornings and doesn't feel my body next to his.  I hurt that he is so lost in his own pain, he seems oblivious to me.  I hurt that I change because of him.  That even when I feel good and free, his disconnect cuts me down, and I reach and extend and lean into him to I can be in his darkened waters.  I hurt and I love.  In my system, my love is worth the cost of pain.  In my system, I will stop hurting when I stop.  In our worlds, whole universes collide and I am not afraid.