red,
as in crimson and flowing or stagnant, dried and fading, telling the things that I wish hadn’t happened, all the things I want to go back and not have to remember, all the pain and violence carried through time, shed out of bitterness.
bitterness
unrelenting in it’s razors edge, cutting through flesh and bone, ripping past all the best parts of us.
us
the collection of myself, and you and them all together. Following the threads of time down the path of the future.
the future
something beyond what I can see in my minds eye.
eye
a vehicle for perception that allows me to engage with the visual world in a specific way.
way
a path or channel to follow. Whether it’s theoretical in the case of philosophical discourse or material in the sense of a california freeway that is winding it’s way down the coastal region of a new home.
home
the place where the heart is free to be with itself in a way that is held and alive, breathing into the sunrise.
sunrise
the specific understanding of a celestial body in relation to earth and my specific position on the surface of the earth that allows for me to perceive the movement of this star that is burning miles away.
away
that is to say, apart from or distant, spacious and (not) particular, in that it could be feet or inches or miles or worlds away from me.
me
a collection of pain and joy and story and heaviness and witness to that which draws me beyond myself into awe.
awe
the approach of something that is beautiful or vast enough to bring about an ecstatic communion with the present moment. moment
the passage of the present through the tidal expanse of this.
structures of home 