HOWLYA

How quickly these months depart us

Time as pages-some crumpled, or torn

folded and scorned-circled and adored.

Love likes to scent the air

with its springtime perfume

blasting through, remnants of autumnal nostalgia

melting a slumbering soil madness

so deafening in holiday idealistic dystopia.

We shift through, unto, our paired down lives

shirking the responsibilities of our brilliance 

scripted through, an accordion of waves

in frequencies few but angels and animals perceive.

Some beg to leave-

others cry for reprieve

but stuck between-here and me is the allofyou

bringing this moment into view.

We witness transition

relative to our own position

the world isn’t small-our ideas are.

As we expand awareness

catching glimpses of infinite wonder-beauty

arriving as a cascading splendor fall 

bestowing gifts unspeakable in its wake

beauty-beauty, we must, see it clearly.

-R. Wolfe

I posted it on my Facebook page to remind myself to look at it later. Yeah, I just said that in real life.

Do you ever space out scrolling through your Instagram feed while brushing your teeth. Things start to feel mighty clean.

In another alternate headspace I wondered outside my circle of social anxiety and found the bundle of uncomfortable. Exciting shit never happens when you’re hiding behind a bush.

Anxiety isn’t all bad. Scared doesn’t happen when you feel nervous enough. It’s a frenetic energy. Stuff gets made and shared before stopping long enough to care about how wrong someone might take it.

I maintain an awful policy about appeasing apologies. Under no circumstance shall I partake in any such ordeal. When seriously sorry, I bake cookies, kiss feet, offer massages and do anything to heal the hurt I have imparted. For those demanding apologies from a mound of just trying to grain more ground, the only condolence I can offer-may peace strike their heart at lightening speed. There is nothing I can do to heal a harmed soul that pissed on any help.

My friends are in the computer. A thicket of email messages, statuses, vignettes and other visual chatter as grown. A soul needs more. This vehicle is a tool. We are connected but it still takes effort to get there.

Scared is like having a door on top of you while your whole family piles on top of it. Drowning would be more peaceful. Thank the mighty puppy dog in the sky. Yeah, I like to imagine God like a little furry friend. He’s more cuddly that way.

Simple. Everything is simple and that is beautiful. What else is there to know? 

(Source: howlya)

I am so goddamn bored it hurts. I felt caged and wild today, so I screamed in my car for about two-point-eight miles. Over my head inconsolable. This boiling is overflowing. So the stream may carry me and my disappointed rage right out my car door to someplace just a little bit more free. 

Everything in my life is in order-neat, tidy and literally contained in boxes. I keep reframing sentences to make positive things happen in my life-this is what I believe, but it’s so utterly exhausting. Probably better to forego the self-pep and just stop trying to suck it up. Do something worthless or of worth, while I give a final kick at this useless smile of denial. Maybe it’s got some teeth, but bored is better than fakery.

Perpetual happiness is a myth. Perpetual anything just doesn’t exist. Gurus say to just be, but forgive me-I thought we were here to do stuff. 

I remember my dreams better than my days. Important stuff sticks to you, or so they say. It doesn’t matter because what I am say isn’t important; what I do is. And when I am saying these words back to myself I am doing something. So what if I forget about it tomorrow?

I tend to feel self conscious about everything, unless I’m engaged in my work or in your words. Yes you who dares to consider the letters I felt worthwhile with whom to share. I like to observe the light and shadows as they flow over the forms of subtle forehead wrinkles, feathers in your lips, shifts in your uneven ears. We all have them. It’s perfect. 

Spacing out feels good, and I really like it. Making lists gives me doubt, fear and a false sense of security that what I’m doing has any worth. 

My wrists hurt when I write because I press too hard. I read somewhere once that it means I feel too much. Who doesn’t feel like feeling a lot? I’ve never heard someone say I don’t want to feel more. They might have been on some pills, maybe. 

But I have to admit I stopped worrying. That freed of a lot of time and while I often feel happy in those hours, some of it is just shitty and boring. And goddammit I care more. Like I needed more stuff to care for, but I do.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I started to like the way I am.

Thanks,

Rachel

(Source: howlya)

We ought to consider every moment magic. Every nuance or event was created specifically for us-our own reality. What we literally have then are infinite realities existing and relating amongst one another. Our goal then is to bring these realities into a place of harmony so that each one balances the other. It’s an intricate dance. If we go about unaware of our role in this dance, we create a collision course with every entity around us. Bringing awareness to our role naturally brings beauty and symbiosis to all entities we relate with. One could imagine the world we can inhabit if we all owned our role with dignity and grace. Oh, the splendor! Can you see it? Hold that thought, that feeling, that image for as long as you possibly can!

-Rachel Wolfe

(Source: howla)