elemental (draft 1)

According to the sacred teachings of Hinduism,

the sound "om" is considered to be the sound of existence.

It is believed that the whole universe,

in it's purest form,

arose from the vibration's of God's vocal chords.

I'm assuming I've been blessed enough to hear it amidst intimate conversations

and as a baseline to the silence of the stars

I can feel it blaring in the breeze

choked on a lung full of autumn air exhaled from the trees

and new beginnings

they say it's the leaves dying

but they just found the colors contained in the chloryphyll

blushing as they show their true hues

simeltaneously we all learn to embrace the spectrums in our souls

ancient myths say the creeks along side the appalacians

were created from the sharp sides of stars,

they scraped past earth on a bad day,

shining brightly, the blades of sunlight left a scratch,

slicing past the laugh lines on the mountains' eyes

we are sculpted by our scars-

as night falls,

the light gets fractured into a multitude of colors

and seeps between the cracks in plastic,

my own insecurities are blinding in the daylight

so it's no wonder I think most clearly under the moonlight-

confident,

I know everything comes to an end eventually,

but when do

portions of your life start to decay into misplaced memories?

the only option at the time

was to avoid dwelling on things that are distant,

maybe the past or more optimistically an intermission,

these moments have half lives,

they morph, deterioate, disinigrate and change,

have you wondered if some of your memories even happened in the first place?

there's something permenant about every moment,

even as it evaporates

I like to pretend I'm an isolated accident

making the best of a mess made by a wrong turn or coincidence

I may have skin constructed 

from past experiences and fiber glass

cracks where my memory leaks,

we are woven together from our worn out expressions,

smiles fraying from being overused

the truth is

my knuckles are bruised

from trying to twist the sunlight into something tangible

we all like to believe we are invincible

or at least to a certain extent

have a sense of control over simple things like cold fronts or our love lives,

but the truth is

we are as predictable as coincidences

and as sparatic as our bad habits

the only time you will ever be perfectly still is when you're dead,

I never want to stop moving-

I'm uncoordinated

tight walking on a stream of consciousness

terrified of drowning

each breath a fraction of my story,

the lack of solidity can be freeing,

stability only exists in liveless living and chaos,

here's a secret:

life is going to happen.

so you might as well let it.

I tend to inject a lethal amoundf of honesty in everything I do

reckless, maybe

I think to think of it as courageous

I might not be omnicient,

but maybe it's the awe of it all

that makes life so exciting.

somedays the extent of my blessings is overwhelming to say the least

I am drawn to likeminded optimists

who find bursts of energy from simplicity

but we are guarded

fix our plastic smiles funded by all the time we've sold

working for causes we don't believe in

our smiles, off center and artificial,

keep our mouths shut

the sun is screaming:

'don't you get it already?

have you not lost enough of your time?

has your health deteriorated enough for you to realized how short your life is?"

fuck your dignity or sense of accomplishment

we are united by the fact that we are fragile

maleable and all have the capacity to feel pain

there is something about honesty 

that reminds us we cannot be divided based on demographics

or time differences,

as much as we hate to admit it,
we are incredibly fragile-
and can't stand the feeling of our trust being shattered
broken like our bones,
the snap of your own sanity can be startling,

so when your voice folds itself along the fault lines in your logic,

surrounded by the silence-

twisted and messy

don't panic,
these things happen,

I will be the first to admit I'm at a loss for words

when you remember to breathe,
breathe deeply,
enough to crack the ribs
that cage you in in the first place,
that concrete exterior isn't natural,
so unzip your skin,

and slip into something more vulnerable

unwrap your voice box,

it is a gift that is collecting dust in the back of your throat-

use it wisely,

never waste an opportunitiy to tell someone you love them-

we can't carry our mistakes around our necks forever,

the trick is realizing how much you've learned

pain just whethers us into a geological sculpture-

compressed under time and pressure,

you have two choices:

live recklessly in every aspect of your life or

tell stories of all the hurt you've avoided when you're  old-

I'd rather be naive than cynical

but just a warning,

it will be a sporatic pattern of excruciating pain and ecstasy

but the wind once assured me 

this is the path that requires more bravery.

by the time you'll die,

I hope you'll have earned it