Motion

Everywhere I look, everything is in motion. All of this, all of this life and movement in front of me makes me ask if I am in motion. Or am I stagnant? Am I holding onto a life that has passed, a life that has come and gone? Am I holding onto the potential of that life? Am I holding onto the potential of the past, without giving balanced hope or effort or attention to the potential of the present and thus to the potential of the future?

There are places in this world that I will never go. Are there feelings in this world that I will never feel? Are there loves in this world that I will never know? Are there freedoms in this world that I will never taste? Are there strengths or moments of confidence that I will never own? Fear and uncertainty. But that is an expecting mind cultivating those things. My mind, like my eyes and my feet and hands, must be present. My heart must be present, because that pressure which it pushes through my veins is the utmost presence in our experience. That contractions and relaxation in my chest is the rhythm of presence in an ice strain and expecting and regretful world, an unpresent world, a distracted world. Be here, now, with your heart.

Life is imperfect. But it is sung with perfect moments. But it’s song is sung with perfect moments. Life is uncertain. But the present moment is the only thing. And in that resides all else and all else can be built from that moment.

Does anyone know what they are doing? Fuck no. I want to scream and burn and plummet into a machine that has been built against what I love. I want to destroy myself in effort to destroy that which is my nemesis. I wish to have a death and an obliteration that makes sense, that causes people’s eyes to feel the flame that weaves above my shoulders while my legs weaken below me. I wish for an effort worthy of the blood in my veins and the histories and pains and glories of those that have brought me here. I want to leave, probably to run away but mostly to start something new, to find new hearts to shatter, to find new eyes to fall in love with and then spend years regretting that I ever saw them cry, to find new mountains within and without, to throw my hand against them, to let my sweat drip onto the stone beneath my tilted head. I wish to leave to make a new world and pursue that which each human deserves: a moment of liberation and a memory of its possibility and a template for its return. A new world is possible and rightfully mine. It is rightfully all of ours. To find it, we must burn away the periphery of this framed piece that we were guided to observe, and expand the paint onto the walls and the floor and the ceiling and the world beyond it. Burn away that which is common and probable and stifling and stagnant on the climb of history. Speak a testament that is uncommon and improbable and hopeful for our eyes to look to the next incline. And thus build a world and a mind and a heart that is open and in motion towards the potentials of our dreams.