I have a confession. I have been down these past few weeks. The West Texas Sun has tried to wrap the warmth of its heart around me. I've listened most days.
My body tells me I'm more than this skin. Moments where there's a slight pain that reaches in for bits of my heart, my hands curl up into fists. Petals all themselves, not wanting to be picked and named sorrow.
But Soemthing moves that cannot be boarded against, held back, or cared for. It simply is.
And so, I've walked, or ran, the couple of miles around my neighborhood, bordering various barns, specked with horses who look over toward me as gods do their children. And again, the pain at their beauty. But the dust kicks up from underneath my feat as I keep on running, listening to one breath lie down, then another on the tips of mesquite.
Why am I sad?
I keep asking, over and over, as I run around the dusty alley-ways. And the sky answers back with gold and yellow, pink and rising red.
My chest aches, half from the running and half from whatever it is I'm feeling around this sunset. And if God doesn't speak through west Texas Sunsets, I don't know how else my heart was born.
And then my miracle.
Weaved through circumstance, I find someone who perhaps I've been hearing in those skies.
I wrote recently about waiting, listening to whatever it is that stops us in our tracks when we let go of distraction.
I think I've been waiting to hear from another life.
I dreamed, these past couple of weeks, several dreams concerning water.
I run each day, around the time I can view my gorgeous sunset, and I think about these dreams of blue, surrounded by the desert.
Sure, I've missed a lover, a friend, but something deeper this time. My sadness, unexplained, should have no place while I enjoy my home, my State, my family. These gorgeous sunsets.
Why am I sad?
So I wrote these dreams into a poem.
I recorded the poem. And a man sent me a message.
This man, a musician, but also a writer, told me his story and said this after reading/listening to my newest poem:
"When somebody blows you away with their beauty or their thoughts, their words or their music don't waste Karmic steam on praise. Tuck yourself into the folds of their genius and absorb the heat of their blood. And as the tears splash on your cheeks tell them what you hear."
And, man, I should be saying this to him, in return.
God, within us, whole lives reside.
We are not, should not, be alone.
Please read his story, here: http://www.iburymydead.com
I read his book, "I Bury My Dead" and immediately wrote: "How can so many people be so beautiful and connected in these strange ways? I am so overwhelmed right now. I feel like my body is no longer mine and I don't want it to be mine, It's theirs, it's God's."
You can find him here, as well: http://www.jamesmichaeltay
Keep weaving us together, Universe. Thank you.