5/2
What can I say?
I feel like I'm bursting with epiphanies, yet not really. They're more like little bubbles and come and go, gently,
with the calm tide. Lying in between Here and There, Winter and Spring, crooning little songs of blue skies and
wind-caressed havens.
Everything feels right, true. In this bubble of here-ness, both utterly me and not me. Words come easy, trickling
down like a stream. Sick of the dams bursting, but calmly, as on a breeze, breathing...
I'm neither Here nor There, in this dark space between reality and illusion, finding a little door in myself
that leads to home. From over the rainbow that comes between grey skies (like my pictures), travelling with the
gypsy folk to my little halo-ed bubble of peace.
Right where I should be, on a heart path both on the ground and sky, between worlds.
Making myself happy.
~
Perhaps the path is not between two, but wrapped around. Perhaps we black cats don't walk around the edges of reality,
but saturate each illusion with our permeable presence. We bath things, strip things, cloth things, putting
things in their original form. It's nice to find myself becoming more like Blacky, even if I'm only on the path
towards, having not reached there yet...
What can I say?
I feel like I'm bursting with epiphanies, yet not really. They're more like little bubbles and come and go, gently,
with the calm tide. Lying in between Here and There, Winter and Spring, crooning little songs of blue skies and
wind-caressed havens.
Everything feels right, true. In this bubble of here-ness, both utterly me and not me. Words come easy, trickling
down like a stream. Sick of the dams bursting, but calmly, as on a breeze, breathing...
I'm neither Here nor There, in this dark space between reality and illusion, finding a little door in myself
that leads to home. From over the rainbow that comes between grey skies (like my pictures), travelling with the
gypsy folk to my little halo-ed bubble of peace.
Right where I should be, on a heart path both on the ground and sky, between worlds.
Making myself happy.
~
Perhaps the path is not between two, but wrapped around. Perhaps we black cats don't walk around the edges of reality,
but saturate each illusion with our permeable presence. We bath things, strip things, cloth things, putting
things in their original form. It's nice to find myself becoming more like Blacky, even if I'm only on the path
towards, having not reached there yet...
lifeblood: sunrise on the cloud
1 word stain | stain the white














