I haven't read or written much poetry in the last few weeks (I did buy Rapture, and I have a stack of books to read that I want to read and that people have lent me - I WILL get to them all!). I feel I have been living it. The heights and the depths and the sheer exhilaration. Oscar Wilde's 'life as art'. Here it is. I found it. It's not always beautiful, it might be challenging, it might disturb - might upset, might make one want to hide. It always has the power to move. It connects - people, places, things, time. I'm scared of it. Scared of not being able to hide in 'illustration' or 'entertainment' or pictures and words that aren't 'art', that I can pretend were art and keep my inner self untouched. That still isn't living, though it can be. There are doors there still to open, in understanding of how we can be together and how we fit into the world. Too far too fast and the doors stick. Time. Understanding. Sleep. These things will make it better. I'm excited by it. Part of it. Surfing the crest of the wave. Coasting down a mountain on a bike still just about under my control. It's a buzz. Incredible thrill.
I love you.
Twelve Days of Boots: Day 8 by The Pioneer Woman
10 hours ago