What does it mean to be alive?
It means your bare feet on slippery moss, taking a leap on a waterfall day. It means flying over clouds to see mountain peaks that swell like your heart. It means falling slowly. It means saying I missed you instead of hello and see you later instead of goodbye. It means dancing when the beat is alive. The music is a heartbeat moving through a sea of faces, because the world fits on a dance floor. It means feeling like home is not a place, it’s a person. The heartbeat made a tide. The tide made the ocean. The ocean made me whole.
It means your bare feet on slippery moss, taking a leap on a waterfall day. It means flying over clouds to see mountain peaks that swell like your heart. It means falling slowly. It means saying I missed you instead of hello and see you later instead of goodbye. It means dancing when the beat is alive. The music is a heartbeat moving through a sea of faces, because the world fits on a dance floor. It means feeling like home is not a place, it’s a person. The heartbeat made a tide. The tide made the ocean. The ocean made me whole.
God is not a person, He is a power, my four year old self
whispers quietly in my ear and I realize the Power is everywhere.
I waited in an airport. I waited in a car. I waited in a waiting room. I waited for a bus. I waited for love. I waited for an answer. I waited for help. I waited for a call. I waited online. I waited offline. I signed in, I signed out. I waited to feel like myself again. I waited for results. I waited for strength. I waited for you.
I held you in my arms and I had to put you back on the filthy ground. Your eyes stare into my soul with deep sadness and deep persistence. You are removed. You have stories that pinch tears out of my eyes and when it rains on a cold winter’s day as I step off the plane I breathe a sigh of relief. I want you to know you didn’t make me cry, you just opened my eyes.
The Aare carried me. My body became part of it as the river embraced me and carried me gently. I could still resist but I didn’t have to try. I didn’t want to try. I watched the trees pass by and the blue periwinkle sky and I said to myself, this is what surrender means.
And I said to myself the other night, this is what grief means. So I’m letting you go, because I don’t want to wallow in the wonder of 2011. Thank you, dear year, for bringing me life. Thank you for infusing beauty in my veins so that it lights up my skin. Thank you for the wooden spiritual centers, for the family love, for the grief, for keeping Hapi safe in Heaven, thank you for the ocean, thank you for education, thank you for Kenya, thank you for kiwis, thank you for good food and good friends and good times.
I’m letting you go because I love you so.
And I’m letting you in because you asked so nicely.
May the love, joy, and peace dwell within as always
and may you have the courage to find it in the dark.
And finally, may you always feel the water as it falls
like a cascade of memories, dreams, and present moments
Mountains, dares, and periwinkle skies,
like a river rapid rush of absolute cleansing perfection.
I waited in an airport. I waited in a car. I waited in a waiting room. I waited for a bus. I waited for love. I waited for an answer. I waited for help. I waited for a call. I waited online. I waited offline. I signed in, I signed out. I waited to feel like myself again. I waited for results. I waited for strength. I waited for you.
I held you in my arms and I had to put you back on the filthy ground. Your eyes stare into my soul with deep sadness and deep persistence. You are removed. You have stories that pinch tears out of my eyes and when it rains on a cold winter’s day as I step off the plane I breathe a sigh of relief. I want you to know you didn’t make me cry, you just opened my eyes.
The Aare carried me. My body became part of it as the river embraced me and carried me gently. I could still resist but I didn’t have to try. I didn’t want to try. I watched the trees pass by and the blue periwinkle sky and I said to myself, this is what surrender means.
And I said to myself the other night, this is what grief means. So I’m letting you go, because I don’t want to wallow in the wonder of 2011. Thank you, dear year, for bringing me life. Thank you for infusing beauty in my veins so that it lights up my skin. Thank you for the wooden spiritual centers, for the family love, for the grief, for keeping Hapi safe in Heaven, thank you for the ocean, thank you for education, thank you for Kenya, thank you for kiwis, thank you for good food and good friends and good times.
I’m letting you go because I love you so.
And I’m letting you in because you asked so nicely.
May the love, joy, and peace dwell within as always
and may you have the courage to find it in the dark.
And finally, may you always feel the water as it falls
like a cascade of memories, dreams, and present moments
Mountains, dares, and periwinkle skies,
like a river rapid rush of absolute cleansing perfection.
This is awesome, I love reading it so much! keep posting it...I will surely cant wait for more ! thanks Emmy for sharing... :)
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