A space.
Between eyes open and eyes shut.
A space.
Between the dream and the reality.
Shall I speak of the dream or the reality or the space between?
You can scroll to the one you like. It will be like one of those choose-your-own story books. We choose our own story anyway.
The Reality.
Eyes open. Sunlight penetrates through the curtains to create its daily art: a rectangle on my floor.
Then, different pieces clank into place like heavy bricks.
Coronavirus.
Empty shelves. Empty lots. Empty workplaces.
No toilet paper. No job. No money.
Trains carrying military vehicles roll along railroad tracks.
Schools with no students are full of sanitization workers.
Clean desks. Clean walls. Clean 5G installation.
At home, people stare at computer screens.
Drones fly over cities warning citizens to stay inside.
Hug your technology, but do not hug anyone else.
Keep six feet between or is it six feet under?
Talk of lockdown. Talk of vaccines.
Talk of saviors and of devils.
Shhh… listen close. Hear the footsteps of the National Guard marching in.
This morning, I cried upon my waking.
The Dream.
Eyes open. Sunlight penetrates through the curtains to create its daily art: a rectangle on my floor.
Then different pieces assemble like birds entraining to the rhythm of each other’s wings.
Vibrancy.
An ocean. A mountain. A river.
Green trees and feet in fertile mud.
The heartbeat of life.
I know your heart and you know mine.
As the sun sets, her beams kiss the horizon. We kiss each other.
We dance. We sing. We touch. We heal.
We could float, but we choose to stay in our bodies because we love our bodies.
This morning, I cried upon my waking.
The Space Between.
Darkness.
Sound of creation.
Rock side to side
to a mother’s lullaby.
You are created with purpose.
The purpose is love.
You are love and love is you and the space between is also love.
The space between is yours to
fill or empty
shout or whisper
be seen or go unseen.
The space is yours.
Dreams and realities share a strange tango.
Dream legs wrap around reality hips and reality arms slither up dream backs.
Wrapped in each other’s passions, they become as indistinguishable as sugar and salt.
Still...
there is the space between and the space is yours.
Between eyes open and eyes shut.
A space.
Between the dream and the reality.
Shall I speak of the dream or the reality or the space between?
You can scroll to the one you like. It will be like one of those choose-your-own story books. We choose our own story anyway.
The Reality.
Eyes open. Sunlight penetrates through the curtains to create its daily art: a rectangle on my floor.
Then, different pieces clank into place like heavy bricks.
Coronavirus.
Empty shelves. Empty lots. Empty workplaces.
No toilet paper. No job. No money.
Trains carrying military vehicles roll along railroad tracks.
Schools with no students are full of sanitization workers.
Clean desks. Clean walls. Clean 5G installation.
At home, people stare at computer screens.
Drones fly over cities warning citizens to stay inside.
Hug your technology, but do not hug anyone else.
Keep six feet between or is it six feet under?
Talk of lockdown. Talk of vaccines.
Talk of saviors and of devils.
Shhh… listen close. Hear the footsteps of the National Guard marching in.
This morning, I cried upon my waking.
The Dream.
Eyes open. Sunlight penetrates through the curtains to create its daily art: a rectangle on my floor.
Then different pieces assemble like birds entraining to the rhythm of each other’s wings.
Vibrancy.
An ocean. A mountain. A river.
Green trees and feet in fertile mud.
The heartbeat of life.
I know your heart and you know mine.
As the sun sets, her beams kiss the horizon. We kiss each other.
We dance. We sing. We touch. We heal.
We could float, but we choose to stay in our bodies because we love our bodies.
This morning, I cried upon my waking.
The Space Between.
Darkness.
Sound of creation.
Rock side to side
to a mother’s lullaby.
You are created with purpose.
The purpose is love.
You are love and love is you and the space between is also love.
The space between is yours to
fill or empty
shout or whisper
be seen or go unseen.
The space is yours.
Dreams and realities share a strange tango.
Dream legs wrap around reality hips and reality arms slither up dream backs.
Wrapped in each other’s passions, they become as indistinguishable as sugar and salt.
Still...
there is the space between and the space is yours.
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