Beginning of March, perhaps March 2nd, evening.
Seldom is my sight so blessed to see such a magical, dynamic light show.
March snow surrounds me, it falls and whirls around the chapel as the wind directs it. But the spotlights around it, oh dear, they make the traveling flakes into shining fairies. And these fairies either float gracefully in suspended animation, or they seem to play with the light, as if it pushed the tiny beings towards the chapel, seeming it to a twinkling path divine. Or they hail swiftly, in a fury almost, made epic by the constant quick strokes of brilliance.
Ah, but the sparkle! The sparkle is like a dream. These beautiful particles, at once fairy, magic, fire, and star...
Fire sparkles anxious to reach the ground, unlike the ones from flames, which rise. These fall in a fury, impatient to come shine upon us, heavy ones, on the ground.
Ah, tiny falling stars. You are a magical, gentle dream.
Behind.
I want to leave it all behind, and not carry it with in some forgotten pocket I've grown too accustomed to or too afraid to look into. Or too fixated. I want to settle all accounts, give what I owe, both matter and words. I withheld in silence many strong thoughts - more feelings, and they must come out if I owe them. The idea of writing them crosses my mind, but now I know this is futile in any way. I know what they are. I feel them. True unsettled dues are those that nibble at my soul every now and then... those objections that arise when I attempt to be at peace.
I will feel them when I ask myself. In my heart, in my throat, as I often do, as I now do. The true feelings arise when one attempts peace. They bubble up into a calming surface, signs of issues unresolved.
I still yearn with wishes unfulfilled, with unmade plans I've postponed time and time again. Sometimes I shushed my yearning, sometimes I held it at bay just under my skin, happy to feel it was still there, but chained by my own conditioning. Right now it's cracking away at my layers, like an atrophied unborn chick trying to begin its life. I feel it, and I'm happy to let it. I feel like cracking the layers myself, and inviting it into the world in sudden and ceremonious occasion. But I believe it, just like the chick, would best be allowed to crack them itself. I just have to stop hardening the layers as I have.
Ah, snow. It just began to fall en-masse again, like in a giant snow-shaker. Millions of dancing fairies, traveling pilgrims, sparkling floating angels, falling stars, dust, cold *embers*, magical glitter...
and that's just around me, and that's just right now. Ah, you magical world. I want to dive deeper into you, know more of you, for I know so little of you. And through you, I seek to know myself.
Seldom is my sight so blessed to see such a magical, dynamic light show.
March snow surrounds me, it falls and whirls around the chapel as the wind directs it. But the spotlights around it, oh dear, they make the traveling flakes into shining fairies. And these fairies either float gracefully in suspended animation, or they seem to play with the light, as if it pushed the tiny beings towards the chapel, seeming it to a twinkling path divine. Or they hail swiftly, in a fury almost, made epic by the constant quick strokes of brilliance.
Ah, but the sparkle! The sparkle is like a dream. These beautiful particles, at once fairy, magic, fire, and star...
Fire sparkles anxious to reach the ground, unlike the ones from flames, which rise. These fall in a fury, impatient to come shine upon us, heavy ones, on the ground.
Ah, tiny falling stars. You are a magical, gentle dream.
Behind.
I want to leave it all behind, and not carry it with in some forgotten pocket I've grown too accustomed to or too afraid to look into. Or too fixated. I want to settle all accounts, give what I owe, both matter and words. I withheld in silence many strong thoughts - more feelings, and they must come out if I owe them. The idea of writing them crosses my mind, but now I know this is futile in any way. I know what they are. I feel them. True unsettled dues are those that nibble at my soul every now and then... those objections that arise when I attempt to be at peace.
I will feel them when I ask myself. In my heart, in my throat, as I often do, as I now do. The true feelings arise when one attempts peace. They bubble up into a calming surface, signs of issues unresolved.
I still yearn with wishes unfulfilled, with unmade plans I've postponed time and time again. Sometimes I shushed my yearning, sometimes I held it at bay just under my skin, happy to feel it was still there, but chained by my own conditioning. Right now it's cracking away at my layers, like an atrophied unborn chick trying to begin its life. I feel it, and I'm happy to let it. I feel like cracking the layers myself, and inviting it into the world in sudden and ceremonious occasion. But I believe it, just like the chick, would best be allowed to crack them itself. I just have to stop hardening the layers as I have.
Ah, snow. It just began to fall en-masse again, like in a giant snow-shaker. Millions of dancing fairies, traveling pilgrims, sparkling floating angels, falling stars, dust, cold *embers*, magical glitter...
and that's just around me, and that's just right now. Ah, you magical world. I want to dive deeper into you, know more of you, for I know so little of you. And through you, I seek to know myself.
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