exception

so there was this dream that i don't remember all of it only a part of it, i don't really remember any of it, the part after, the part when i woke up, i woke up and remembered that i just had a dream that i loved being in very much and there was a faerie spirit by my bed and she whispered how i am loved, and about how i have not been loved in a way that was not manipulated in a very long time, and that i would like the next part because it had been a very long time of knowing the other side and i would get to know the difference by knowing the other side for so long.
and there was a part of me that wanted to go to sleep to see what happened in the dream, so i could know more about the things that were coming, to see if my suspicions were correct or if it was something suddenly unexpected suddenly, but there was another part of me that wanted to go to sleep because this all sounded true, and it sounded like if it were as true as it sounded for as long as it sounded, then i must be exhausted, and how could anyone live with a heart as broken as that? it must not be that broken, but i wanted to go to sleep but i also wanted to find my lost friends because they might know things, and i started to look for them.
and if that wasn't enough (it wasn't), i went through the motions of opening the heart again, and making things sweet again, and thinking about the fond people i think about in fond ways, and see what i had learned about like attracting like, and doing that, and by the end of an evening i was sleeping with more questions than i woke up with, and those questions would remain unanswered for a very long time and that might be enough to make me fall asleep fast (it was), and when i woke up, i practiced openness and attracting the good and thinking about how there is a flow and a thing that is hard not to imagine as unconditional love, and if it was something i recognized then it was also something in me, and i practiced that, but in all these things there are exceptions.
there are small wounds that open up from time to time for one reason or another in ways we can't predict, and there are those peculiar ones that make us decide that everything else has to be put on hold, because this is an emergency.  i float around in a healing light and cultivate wisdom and visualize ballard because it really won't hurt anyone, not for very long, but there are emergencies, and that's when the silver in my palms starts to burn and my hands start to glow and there is a streak of white lightning that cuts me open from the chin to the belly, and this is on, this body is moving in time and it is mortal and it is biological and it is incapable of escaping from itself, and these times it needs itself, the body needs itself most of all, more than anything, because there are things that i have to do with my hands.
this is a hard season, this winter that comes back for another day or two, and keeps coming back for another day or two.  you want to think that this is the moment when you'll curl up beside that other one, with something warm in a mug and something soft that is your hands, but something isn't right, it's just not right.  there is a swinging chair right outside the door, and it's moving, inhabited by the ghosts of some children that you used to know.  they are restless and they are hungry and there is something that has been missing in them for way too long, and they're not leaving until someone answers their prayers, and they're not going to sleep again because they seem to have understood that comfort will not help them, not at all.  those are the lies that other children use to get through the night, but they understand more than anyone else, living or dead or somewhere in between.
and they start to take shape, their shadowy outlines start to take shape, and they are defining themselves as among the ones who are stuck in between, and they really just want to be one or the other, living or dead, but they cannot make up their mind.  and this is an indecision that is nothing new, and nothing strange to your family, it's something the bloodline has been trying to conquer since they were conquered so badly by every other surrounding army and nation.  and there is a violence in your blood, one that you did not ask for, and one that you don't want to recognize, because to recognize it means that you are part of this lineage, and you've experienced this violence yourself, and you didn't know that you could even call it violence, because it's just what happens when people want things they don't have, and you walked into that strange city by yourself under your own volition, because you wanted to meet the people who lived there.
some days, the lines on our hands are as light as feathers, connecting us to each other like we were all birds who are flying in the same direction, with the same idea of home.  and on some days, the weight of fingerprints is too much to bear, so you have no more choices, your back is against a wall, and you have to forgive the ones who lost their sense of direction, and cry for the innocence that got lost between one dream and another.


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