meditate this

“I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.”

― T.S. Eliot

february is not as it seemed

and so it begins again... the pressurized nothing-ness on my heart. Pressure so powerful, nothing fighting back.  Intricately defeating and deflating itself, this heart is not wanted. Wounded more broken, not wanting to get started.  Not wanted.  I would rather beat the blood through my eyelids and fingertips than the fragile little bird inside my chest that has lost its feathers, its flight and its fight. Give me sightful distractions, give me something new to hold in my fingers. Get me off this ground. Get me up in the world where the flowers shan't decay, where the worms shan't feed, where the people aren't sold and their souls forever need.