Blacks on my left, burgundy on my right. While I’ve spoke of dating the dark hours of the night with coffee, cigarettes, & candles, nothing is more of a guilty pleasure of mine than really spending an amber-sandalwood candle-lit night with my beloved blacks between two fingers on my left & a nice, very generously poured red (or two, sometimes three) cupped on my right. I can feel the lovely warmth in my face & chest.
Speaking of my blacks, they’re supposedly banned in the States so they’re a bit of a hassle to obtain since I don’t get to go to the closest store for them. When I finally found a liquor store that carries them, the cashier handed them to me while sharing, “You know, I know a guy whose lungs bled out from smoking a ton of these.” I remember thinking, “Love, you’re talking to the wrong girl. Just, um, please hand them over.” But, I unperturbedly smiled, paid, & left to go enjoy them.
Here goes, I light my last.
just as trees cast away their dulled leaves
when the time comes,
we must disconnect our ties with mournful memories,
shed any remnants of the painful past
we may still grip onto;
for they only tarnish our shine,
& bruise our soul black.
loosen your grip on griefs,
shed away the haunting wounds;
let it all dwindle to a place beneath you,
as browned leaves would fall
& soon crumble underneath branches
of a strong tree
that knew when to let go.
breathe in deep,
feel the birth,
of your green leaves.
A time of when I was gaining strength & coming out under from a dark place…
Sad, to be the butterfly that cannot see its own beauty.
It’s bloody past four in the morning. I have not slept a wink & nor will my mind allow it. Past four, & I am here cooking with purple Peruvian potatoes – tell me, who in the world does that? They’re still roasting lovely on the stove. In my defense, I’m taking a breather from ongoing strings of black sentences & white spaces. Well, sort of considering that my fingers are tapping out these black & white notes.
I leave my candle lit cavern of a desk to briefly continue the cooking going on in the kitchen, & stand in front of the stove accompanied by all the sizzling. All the sizzling & just my thoughts alone. All night I haven’t uttered a word (all day, actually, now that I think of it), nor have I turned on any composed music when I normally do. Honestly, the still music of silence along with rhythmic keys tapping were music enough. Once in awhile, I would hear the candle flames crackle & the air conditioner whir. All of that coincided with the not so quiet whispers of my thoughts – perhaps I couldn’t take any more noise.
Another sleepless night, so I turn to caffeine, nicotine, & sandalwood scented candles. Soon, I will be immersing myself into a sea of words, both born & unborn… & what would follow suit is the birth of the unborn inside.
I will leave here for now, with this:
Find ecstasy within yourself. It is not out there. It is in your innermost flowering. The one you are looking for is you. You are the traveler AND you are the destination. In experiencing the ecstasy of your own being, you have achieved the final goal.
A certain darkness, especially in New York City, is needed to see the stars; & in this case, the waning crescent & Venus.