Uncovered Indefinately

Going to sit and meditate with my guitar in hands, capo on the 2nd fret, and not cover anything. I am going to see what happens. Ugh. I haven't wanted to revisit myself in this space and have been prolonging the time away through working out covers only. I feel like I have this truth locked away and that it will be like Pandora's field-day (never mind that damn little box) when I am alone and open my mouth.

Someone said something interesting last night to me. They said that they were recently told by another that when we have out a shield, we also have a drawn sword; that in battle, we are taught to throw a block while maintaining the resistance. I think that I wonder sometimes what is in the other pocket, the one to the opposite side of the shield; I wonder what's in the clenched fist gripping at the hilt.

Perhaps, instead, the writing isn't on the wall, but in my hand. In blue ink. I am conscious there is a message, worn by time, but still insistent not to wash my hands of it just yet. Like, the way I felt after a boy first took it and caressed it under a table, I felt so sad to wash the experience away with soap, as if each trip to the water faucet would bring me one further from the moment I longed to be in. If at eight, I could feel at that depth, imagine the ocean below at twenty-more. Much to navigate. The space I mean, that both separates us into oceans apart, but connects us as we travel upon its sturdy back of circumstance.

I love you Past. I love you and I don't have to think about how to have you in my life, as you are. This is the experience. We are living in. We are living across. We are both living on. Intregal(ly) connected upon the same sea of certainty. My first mate, my captain, my siren at rocky-shore edge. (Breathe).

The present we bathe eternally in. (Breathe).

And the present has passed. (Breathe).

But, then a new present returns. (Breathe).

Forever Yours,

B