free flow #28

grey sky venus kinda morning listening to binaural beats calling upon my spiritual homies after intense dreams about new york city. missing new york city. at a poetry reading last night and being reminded of new york walking through the urban landscape, what is it i am missing? the anonymity? the feeling of intense humanity? of being closed in by tall buildings? all the pockets of lit up creativity? the cold fresh air reminding me of the time it was bitter cold out and i decided to follow my intuition on a dime and wandered myself into chelsea right up to a man-child who was running a gallery show and said hello and we wound up having a thing. moments like those. new years eve party in the upper west side i was hired for, reading for the well-to-do in a tiny pocket by the food. wallets being stolen, mine too, throwing a fit about it when i felt it was rigged by the party throwers. somehow they had “found” my wallet the next morning. right, sure. yelling into the sky the night before, why why. in new york you need money just to get home. maybe it’s the part of myself i miss, tough and open. tough like my blood is though, not my starseed soul which is soft and barely poofing herself here. she needs to get more here, more inside the tough blood of my ancestors. feeling the blazing ache of this current reality rise and swell inside humanity, my family, and knowing i must rise too, to occasions of shadow like a bright light that is a cobalt blue bulb reminding of other ways besides the fight. yet still resistant. like earth and snow. like a storm that cleanses. like foggy lenses cleaned by a mild hand certain clarity is on the other side of the command. i know this, we know this, we got this, you got this. lemon yellow nostalgia washes down memories. the last six years feels like ten years ago. i am no longer the same person. no longer feeling youth the same way. only the child like soul remains of youth while the ego grows into the north, wrinkles, wisdom of living, a calming down, less self focus, less self as center, less dreaming. wonder becomes something new to shine upon those younger and older. something musical. something soft and strong and hot pink and surprising. not a part of self or sacrifice. nothing that starts with an s. except stars and sass and maybe a sprig or two. these words fall my finger tips making no sense but feeling true and this combination inspires my morning blood awake. how about you? what wakes you up? do you delve into the deliciousness of words like i do? still can’t believe how human i am. each day it is a little bit shocking like jumping into the cold pool after the hot one. she said to bring all of me to the group. not holding back. letting the flood of real me through. ok, will do…

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