There is nothing better

than spiritual convergence with the physical.

When my mind wanders

unknowingly into the deepest

Parts of itself.

When there is no

rope or hand

to hold onto,

to pull me back

and hold me back.

When I let myself go

and I learn more about myself

and what I can do,

I feel better about my existence.

Guilt rarely,

rarely reaches me,

and on the few occasions it does

I don’t feel the dull

sore pain

of my chest

bound too tight

by clothes too small.

I don’t feel the nagging

of a swarm of flies

flittering in and out of my hair.

The brain lets go of all of its

uncomforts,

tells itself about them,

tells me about them,

makes it known that

it is still feeling

and that feeling is ok.

No person can search my mind

like my mind can search itself.

Not even myself -

not my mind but

the conformed being -

can search the timid brain.

when no strings are attached

everything falls into place

and I don’t feel a hollowness.

 

Boxes left

locked in closets,

brought out receive a smile,

no matter how damaged

the boxes are
.

The boxes are dusted off

with soft breaths.

I consciously enter

stand by my mind

inside my head.

Hold the albums

faded

whether by time or will.

The closet locks

rusted and eaten

keys no longer needed.

Where I was once aching

all over

is finally addressed with moderation.

Not irrational

cold

long metallic nails,

but a warm blanket

and an outstretched hand.

To pull me back up

out of deep waters,

and dry off my face.

With

A brush,

A pen;

Ink,

Coal;

Shadow,

Color.

There is nothing better

than being able to see true

after the false clarity I saw with before.

After putting

and seeing myself

in something more distant

and personal.

I began a process of healing

through the death of old ideas

and the creation of new.

With my mind.

With my hands.

With art.