Messy humans

And for every moment I see that I was wrong do I color in another line in the drawing etching itself from my hand, almost as if to get free of me. I can’t separate the shapes and colors at first.. and while I try to make sense of it through my eyes, instead I hear it sing to me “… two insecurities don’t make a right.”

In N’ Out.

You weren’t wrong about so many, so many, intricate important things that lay all around us & in Plain sight. I long to reach out to you, discuss how insane *they all are, and then I remember where you were wrong. And I sit back, feeling how it felt, to be made to think – that it was me.

On a walk I noticed this tree and,

A morning walk in franklin park

Humans are like this tree and this tree is like life. Look to the branches. What do you see when you trace them? …Full of bumps and ugly twists, spots of beauty if that’s how you define it, dark holes and light bark, unpredictable twisty messiness, unfurling out into our own expansion when we simply follow the light and feel our roots. May we remember that we don’t have to be anything else, standing without apology like this tree.

A turn in the road // On the other side of time

As the fog dissipated, the stone became clear and in writing it affirmed. Neither one wrong, one wanted solitude a little longer. It wasn’t for specific views, known feelings, or a different medium under their foot. It was the art of isolation they longed for, though there weren’t words for it, because it wasn’t a conscious thought then… it was the art of isolation and what it could unfold into if given the time.

The stone sits, the paths unwind into the wood… and maybe they go further still.