The ache is real, in a way that life never really is.
I hardly understand why it all happens the way it does. I am a servant to the way it all comes together, not really knowing what happens, or why or how.
The certainty of life eludes me, and I notice, with a wry smile, how the laws of attraction wriggle their way into my life, settling in with a soft sigh.
Every time I think it will be different, that I can do it right this time, I see the forefinger of the Universe waggle in front of my face, and I find my way into the heart of a book that proclaims some gibberish about energy and how our creative minds create things without us even really knowing it.
Inevitably, I find myself closing the book with a sigh, and my heart contracts painfully as I glance at the solidity of the world around me. Hard tree trunks give way to soft soil, invisible winds tell me that nothing I read carries any weight in the deep, indigo inner parts of my body.
By day, I stand in front of multiple bodies sitting in a classroom, preaching at them all the things we must do to save this earth. Inside, though, I know that nothing really matters. The full weight of the convictions I blow into their ears, like fairie dust, only boomerang right back to me, as if to say I have it all wrong.
Every day I hear the same lines, surround myself with the same truths, those velvety truths that I am sure mean no real harm (even though someone, or something, is always harmed). Oh, nothing is really meant at all. Truth keeps finding ways of making itself known, and must often sneak its way through the minds and hearts of human beings. What boldness, what clever manipulations weave themselves through eyes and ears and hearts. Those soft hearts, oft forgotten by those who carry them. Soft bodies, dented by the weight of lifelines unfolding, and bent under the weight of lives unlived and unrealized.
So tell me, just what am I supposed to do with it all? I have no place to tuck all the truths of the world into. I can’t just open my heart as if it were an accordion, and expand it with loving, yet hard-edged truth. No, I suppose I myself must fold myself into the spaces of these truths. I must try to fit myself between the corners of redemption and release, or find the small opening where ecstasy meets uncertainty. Here, here is where I shall stay until the time when it all falls away. For sometimes, the safest place is where you least expect it.