The Palettes of Life

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  The Palettes of Life A Diary Essay on Inner Seasons, the Memory of the Soul, and the Quiet Art of Becoming  There are mornings when the world seems unfinished, as though the night has left its final shadows resting on the windowsills and the light has not yet decided how far to reach. I wake at such an hour, somewhere between sleep and consciousness, when thoughts are still indistinct and silence possesses a particular density, one in which even the most ordinary things begin to speak. The glass of water on the bedside table, the cold touch of the floor, the faint noise of the city gradually returning to itself. And I find myself thinking that life is not a single painting we must bring to completion, but a palette that continually changes along with the person holding it. I once believed there was a particular way of being oneself, some inner model one had to discover, perfect, and then preserve intact through the years. I imagined the self as a pure color, something origin...

Alone

 


Alone in my captivity, lost in despair,
I wander, dragging my garments in air.
The weight of it all, crushing me down,
In myself, time's stopped, in silence I drown.
In timeless childhood, stolen breath by breath,
In soulful fields, where I take flight in death.
I soar and return, fueled by desire,
In dreams awakened, here I lie, a crier.
I've lost myself in my realm's dominion,
In ceaseless seeking, my relentless opinion.
Day and night blend in their passionless fight,
For my smile to bring peaceful light.
But peace in the burden, aching and sore,
A sickness from war's loads, my being tore.
Where did I lose myself, once content and calm?
In heaven's embrace, I gave up my qualm.
The birth of rain in love's tender spell,
I hide from it, run and dwell.
For it, I divide myself untroubled,
In its magic, my heart's bubbles.
The dawn of morning's feeling's here,
I return, love, seeing me clear.
I am her reflection, and she'll see me tomorrow,
I move the pieces of myself in my sorrow.
Locked, shut, torn apart and divided,
Forgotten, discarded, torn and derided.
Alone and weeping, powerless, still,
Torn apart, hopeless, with hope killed.
Will I find myself again, I wonder?
To connect my disjointed pieces and ponder.
I'll make my move and win this game,
In boundless unity, I'll know my name.
The only feeling is pain, I breathe it deep,
Accepting it, in its mission I leap.
Tasting it, feeling it, I am it, I love it,
I give birth to it, in my seeking, I covet.
Overflowing, intertwining, enclosing, I ache,
Unraveling, separating, in pouring, I wake.
From myself to myself, let it happen, I'm eternal,
In remembrance, discovered, loved, I'm internal.
Blind in seeing, in sensations, I age,
In whispers of soft words, I engage.
I commit ceaselessly to my finding, I reign,
And here, on eternity's doorstep, I'll gain.
Love, in timelessness, clad in its attire,
Wordless, silent, speaks to me in mire.
Hopelessness, impossibility, swiftly embrace,
Forgotten, alone, in soul's understanding's grace.

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