June things.

A list of June things 
I'd like to see more of:

potted plants.
daytime moons.
momentum. 
outdoor folk music.
strawberries.
collaboration.
salt water.
courage.
hammocks.
simplicity.
spotify.
summer rain.
red-coral sunsets.
tiny cabins.
old books.
possibilities of spontaneity.
wild, western landscapes.
sleep.
remembered dreams.
campgrounds.
days without time.
walks at dusk.
drives to nowhere/everywhere.
less waiting.

And more gorgeous music like this.... 
to melt into:

I promise they'll be wondrous.

photo source: here

One day we'll sit on a verandah

among silence and words

and the wide, sparkling sea.

From there we'll witness 

rhythms and waves

and skies and heartbeats.

And I promise

they'll be wondrous.

These worlds

that surround us.

You and me.

A time machine.

Art by Duy Huynh

As time treads on, we may think memories become muddled and vague, slowly disappearing with each year. This isn't the case.The body remembers. 

When you revisit a place it has a way of pulling the past up from the depths of your bones and flooding your bloodstream with old familiar feelings, only this time they're more concentrated, more potent, more clear. Like a time machine. A time machine of remembrance and longing; longing to hold on, longing to go back, longing to never forget again.

But nothing is ever truly forgotten, just stored inside us like a series of faded snapshots, simply waiting for recognition, rediscovery and sometimes permission to form the full picture.

Protect each others breathing.

photo source: me

I'd like to know about these forest paths. Their bending, their breaking, their changes, their seasons. How we'll step into our own, learning to protect each others breathing, learning to breathe together, to share space, to give space, to become the very trees themselves, steady in growth, roots deeper than the solid grounds, our strength sometimes stronger than reason.

Two heated hearts.

Only take those ready to receive the full force of your love and life so that they may grow alongside you separately, yet dangerously close enough to create an entirely new world together while never shying away from the wild fire and splendor of two heated hearts. 

It is the only way. 

"I could light the night up with my soul on fire
I could make the sun shine from pure desire
Let me feel the love come over me
Let me feel how strong it can be"

No less than everything.

Tonight, the sky sits silenced and suspended between calm and rage before the storm, awaiting the chance to release the pressure in order to change it's shape and form.

You sit and gaze at the face of a gently falling dusk, drenched in the sounds of fleeting birds and the last of the closing doors of those retreating into homes as we circle 'round the same old sun, as hot as the fire in your core, ready to rise into being by following the call that pulls you toward what you must finally become. Embody yourself. You are fully supported by no less than everything. And everything is waiting for you.

When you believe in time.

If I had two weeks, I'd take you to places that make the soul a little less thirsty- places that'll hold us in their hills as the sun blankets the land with hopeful orange light. We'd soften gently with dusk, knowing that time will take care of us, because when you believe in time, then time will believe in you and I.

photo source: 

Worlds within worlds.

I wanted to ask you about your vision of perfection in an imperfect world, or what side of the earth calls out to you when you touch a physical globe, or maybe about your greatest heartache and how you still go on as your world continues turning, or what you do with a memory once lodged inside your bones that's still breathing, and burning.

But you're still a stranger, and I'm overly polite, so I'll ask all about your day when I'd rather know about your life.

Spring always comes again.

And then April swept in with its breezes and rain, readying the lands for spring with scattered bursts of sudden color, rising from the dull ground while announcing their desire to breathe life again. I don't know anything about certainty or being sure or steadiness in this unforgiving world. But I do know about seasons, especially spring. Spring always comes again.

Still always together.

You made yourself from the earth, the meadows, the ground below us, holding this planet steady. I made myself from the lightning and rain, hovering above your quiet grounds until I'm called, when your solid lands are thirsty, and ready. Meanwhile, the earth spins on. Meanwhile, the wind grows strength in shedding truths and whispers of silent knowing. Just as soil feeds the world, and water feeds the soil, we were not made to exist in this world without another's voice on the line, or strong hand in the dark. We are here to support one another, by growing separately, yet still always together. To light each other's spark.

Remember the spaces.

We are sitting in the country somewhere. Watermelon and warm grass. Rolling fields under the bluest of skies, stretched out for miles, as wide as they are high. We catch the slightest scent of smoke- perhaps a grill or bonfire from faraway or maybe our space itself, between the sun, the heat, and the spark between you and I, filled with serenity, and ground, and wild grinning eyes.

I'm often held and rocked in the space of fire and spring, and us in the countryside.

Remember the spaces. The spaces are what count. Always the spaces. Not the answers. Not the destinations. Not the passage of time. 

Be an encourager.

I think everyone should encourage everyone. We have enough self-created walls and people who unknowingly also build them into our psyches, simply by discouraging us. Encouragers build doors instead of walls just by believing.

There is strength in being seen.

I see you standing there

with a mouthful of poems

yet a head full of doubt.

You are soft yet softening,

while needing to be split open,

and poured out.

So let go.

All the things that you've carried,

all the ways that you've drowned,

all the beauty you'd forgotten,

every flame burned out.

There is strength in being seen. 

Quiet synchronicity.

Don't simply brush away the inexplicable connectedness we'll occasionally taste as we experience certain people, places and works of art. These mere seconds of quiet synchronicity and understanding count. They always, always count. You just have to know and believe it.

"So keep your head up

Keep your love"

If people were seasons.

illustration by Lizzy Stewart

I have decided that if people were seasons

you would be summer. 

The way you burn as hot as the sun itself

while seeking naked truths.

Celestial like the solstice,

always bursting into bloom.

I'd like to know you.

I'd like to meet you in a place neither of us has been, 

with sunlight and white buildings 

and blue seas and golden hills. 

I'd like to hike and stretch and swim

and find music so good it melts 

our shoulders and ears and eyes. 

I'd like to share vibrant food 

and care for you

be calm with you,

learn your rhythms,

your mannerisms,

dive into your mind.

I'd like to know you,

yet not worry about knowing you,

and realize that all we have is now, 

and that in the now,

there's no such thing as time.

The moon is still silver.

illustration by Duy Huynh

I meant to tell you 
the moon is still silver.
It still rises same as it used to rise,
shedding light onto cities and lands
softened by the coming of night.

I meant to tell you that I still gaze up,
same as when you were here, 
and that in the stillest of hours
while carrying a heart 
as wide as the sea,
if I soak in that moon, 
it may bring some relief.

I meant to tell you that
I still taste your song in me. 
It comes in waves
under silent skies,
It threatens my sanity. 

How you came and you went 
long before I could tell you
I didn't want you 
to leave.

But you did.
And the moon is still silver.

So here I stand 
left with echos
of us 
And those nights
that used 
to breathe.

All was wild.

I'd like to stand with you at the base of the mountains and just look. I'd like to care about the way they collide with trees and rivers, the way your breath collides with air, the way I can get lost in the sounds of both, and in that moment, all was wild. 

photo source

A thousand reveries.

I wish to inhabit daydreams. 

To catch them as they flee,

to tie them 'round my wrists,

to be bound by a thousand reveries. 

To ride out longings until they're gone

rather than left behind, and aching.

In love with this tune:

"Hey now, letters burning by my bed for you
Hey now, I can feel my instincts here for you, hey now
By my bed for you, hey now, hey now"

Everyday poetry.

Everyday poetry: the collision of breath and winter, the pause between daylight and dusk, the breakthrough in the body, the sweet spot in the song, the photos in the attic, the rediscovery of a note, the strokes of paint on canvas, the silence in the nights, and the space after letting go.

illustration by Frida Stenmark

When you reach your edge.

When you reach your edge, soften. 

Soften until you slip through the constraints and can create 

a new rhythm, a new route, a new release. 

Water is soft, yet powerful. 

Reach your edge, and soften.

The ones you long to know.

Soulmates aren't the people 

that make you the happiest, no.

They're instead the ones

who make you feel the most,

burning like a star on the edge of the world

as one night ends and another begins.

Radiation and reactions.

Scientific poetry,

poetic science.

Around and around in an endless circle.

They're pure elation, 

danger, and ecstasy.

They're the ones

that can destroy you.

They're the only ones

you long to know.

The burn of lightning.

Remember to only remain on flights with storms you can tolerate swallowing. The burn of lighting is merely fiery fuel when flying toward skies that suit you.

illustration source: Christian Schloe

Content to be consumed.

Let's not travel to tick things off lists
or collect half hearted semi treasures
to be placed in dusty drawers in empty rooms. 
Rather, we'll travel to find grounds and rooftops
and tiny hidden parks, 
where we'll sit and dismiss the passing time,
spun in the city's web 'til we've surrendered,
content to be spent and consumed.
I need to feel a place while I'm in it.

photo by Alicia Savage photography

Real connections live forever.

When connections are real, they simply never die. They can be buried, or ignored or walked away from, but never broken. If you've deeply resonated with another person or place, the connection remains despite any distance, time, situation, lack of presence, or circumstance. If you're doubtful then just try it- go and revisit a person or place and see if there's any sense at all of the space between now and then.

If it was truly real, you'll be instantly swept back into the moment it was before it left- during the same year and place with the same wonder and hope, comfort and heartbeat. Real connections live on forever.

When you're certain.

I often think of the energy behind Paulo Coelho's words while gathering passion and certainty over a longterm plan:

"And when you want something, all the universe conspires to help you achieve it."

Ask yourself if you're certain- do you really want it? When you're certain, desire will transform you into a racehorse, explosive at the gate. When you're certain, details and obstacles will noticeably shrink, and crumble away. Excuses will die, ecstatic determination will strengthen your drive, and the sheer power of intent will rattle your lands and skies. Are you truly certain? Then call it out. Claim it as yours. Do what you need to do each and every day, to let it know you're ready, you can see it, and that you're on your way. Now is the time. Your dream patiently awaits.

Suspended in a moment.

Somewhere close yet far enough,

there's a place where time cannot reach.

A place suspended in a moment,

where the earth stops turning

and where you know I'll be waiting.

I'll be the wings

that keep your heart in the clouds

and you'll be the anchor 

that keeps my feet on the ground.

(photo by me)

Step off the treadmill.

Perfectionism is merely an endless treadmill of self-destruction that'll only build momentum until you're running at unsustainable speeds. Rather than remaining a slave to the illusions you perceive as safe, step off the treadmill and live as the piece of art you are: messy, colorful, fluid, and adoptable to change, mistakes, shifts, surprises, pain, and of 

course, immeasurable moments of beauty.

It is there, outside the enclosed grey walls of perfect self-imprisonment that you shall 

touch the meaning of freedom.

photo source

Burns like fire.

The fiery force is the life force. The beat within the song, the perfection in the chaos, the core desire within the need. Without the fire and drive we walk around numb and numb isn't really living.

Numb is nothing.