SOC Writing _ 17.5.21

When the heart opens

I feel like the dust – torn and beautiful, red and rare - raw- riveted to the spot where she spoke the words - cultivated a different way before me – all the spots of transcendence - all the wondrous friendship arising like stars on a perfect evening sky. A fire in the bellows and weeping on the ground – the heart can hold this – hold it all even while yours may break at the sight – you will hold this – everything belongs – everything belongs – my love is a well spring of eternal life flooding through me from core to core – upwelling, uprising to provide life for all - for her, for me - for eternity – world creating forces – rivers running through my subterranean bowels – like a globe holding the sands of time – every human born – every human dying – we are all dying in this one small container that is our life on this plane – emergent souls from all sorts of places – all sorts of sweets as the man throws handfuls to my delight – mackintoshes that I suck then stick under the door handles of cars - marvelling at my ingenuity – at my wit and hilarity – then the fireworks explodes in my face – not so funny now heh? – as my ears ring long into the night – the forest fires are alive in this one - in me – as she saunters down the distillery path I am on fire with delight – with what she gave me just then – keeps on giving me from moment to moment – wrapped up in her life a present always ready to be opened – top shelf delights from the mother tongue – the centre of Ireland – the place where you are welcomed home – where I belong – where the people throng for the song of ages – the rock we called blessed and kiss with our mouths – I am alone sitting reading Gibran – and wondering about this – the season of my heart – the season of love – as I never knew it to be – wonder how far I will open – how deep and long I will stoop – to be against the earth – wet, cold, dirt is the safest place on earth while I bleed my heart out – while I give life back to life itself.