The Wounded Space

I know of me, as I know of you, out there, in here, and every space between.

I find those parts of me, and I find those parts of you, out there, in here, and every space between.

I am, like you, everything and nothing in any given moment. We are the sparkles and the darkness , the willow and the sky. the needle and the thread as well as the slightly wounded space between the edges that we’ve bound.

In this awakening I unfurl my arms, renewed with the strength of a thousand revelations, to both embrace and let go at exactly the same time. What leaves allows in, what departs makes room for something new. I claim ownership of nothing even as I lay stake to everything that I am.

I feel my existence in the gaps, in the moderation of extremes, in the mixture of the hottest hot and the coldest cold I’ve ever known. I am alone in the emptiness though surrounded by a billion beings, and I am found in the wilderness only through the eyes of my beloved, through the arms of something wanting nothing more.

I await for my Queen to arrive. She will grab the scabbard and pull Excalibur from my chest, rising to meet a heart that’s learned to fly through wind that meets me at my best. With arms so full of her in an embrace so empty in her absence, I stand as strong as purple-hued stars that light our evening sky, and in a voice heard through the vacuum we both sigh, surrendered to the whisper neither of us can hear, but both of us have known forever.

Thus, we are bound. The light, the darkness, the heat and the cold, we are tied together through time and space in an eternity of happenstance. In this Universe we are separate only in our perception, in our ideas. We are one without ourselves, truly known as forever in that which we only see as temporary.

In that thread we find whatever it is that binds us. We are one in the illusion that we are many, we are the same in the idea that we are different. The tears and laughs venture from the same place, the happiness and anger enjoyed by the same experience yet in a different moment. Or is it? Could it be that the present moment never ends except in the folly of beings so bent on finding something better? That is something to consider.

With that, adieu. If these are, by chance, the last words I ever write may you know that I’ve fulfilled my promise. Know that the sword you grasp is not that thinly made, and that it has been tempered by the fires of Hell itself. Know that the wings you see were not granted me at birth, but were forged from a thousand falls from a million different nests. Know that as my head nestels on your breast that it knows countless pillows made of stone. Know that as my body rests buried in a bag that it has walked eternal miles, all in honor of a heart that was meant to live, in a place it was meant to know.

Don’t worry, I plan to live. In fact I never plan to die. <3