Seven Out

I was seven out and counting.

I hadn’t even felt the rush of wildness yet, I hadn’t tasted the subtle drip of tenderness in Her gaze, or the petal like quality of Her fingertips, as they fell, gracefully, upon my body.

I had been away, that part is true, I had seen places, seen people and sights that many a man would be unequipped in imagination to even dream of, and yes my eyes had known the inebriation of awe, and yet still within the depth of my inner world I knew I was far from full, and would remain so, until my sight was again blinded by the intoxication of Her beauty.

I felt mellow, rested and patient

a drifter, adrift, sensing my time was still to come

hopeful, you could say


And yet, the rain always directed me to my past, as if in its rhythmic washes swam parts of my soul that I had once tossed on to an open fire, but had since found themselves reborn in the cold and harsh deluge of a weeping sky

I had known peace, it had shook me, on a day so dissimilar to today you would not even believe they were born of the same substance

I remember the trees, I always do

especially in moments of haze, the vividness and serenity of the surrounding nature hums a certain mystical frequency which leads me to the passion of my own heart

I shall never tire of it, not in a millennia of activity shall it dull

I was naked, but fully clothed.

I had listened intently as I told myself my story, spoke my heart, said with clarity and compassion all the words that littered my spirit with weight, that dragged me through my days, I had offered them as a parting gift, or I should say as a dowry as I married Truth

I was marrying myself Whole and discarding the fragments, the fragments that needed, and quested and lusted for validation, for acceptance, that lay, alone, beside me, in fear of rejection and bathed in self-judgment, and believed themselves unworthy of love and remained uncertain of the perfection in all that unravels from the exquisiteness of light.

I was nine out and counting, although had lost count some time ago, the numbers had less importance in married life, all that mattered now was when I would be home again and would I remember to let myself in, and now that I was lighter and freer, full of nothing, but potential, would I truly see myself

when I opened the door

to all that was yet to be.

Making Plans, France // 13”12”17

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