Stream of Consciousness

magic peddler

if i could have any job, i’d be a magic peddler.

leave fairy dust behind in my barefooted trail, sprinkling madness into your lives, waking you up, slipping fire into your veins.

every time you’d walk the same ground i’d walked, heat would shoot through the soles of your feet, spreading chaos like a disease, giving you the choice to harness or fall to it.

i’d sell tinctures to open eyes and flush hearts of doubt. carry a deck of cards, read your past and extract the damages so you could find the slivers of silver left behind.

i’d unleash dragons and fashion lakes of healing for lepers.

charge you to swim with the mermaids (for a nominal fee) and sell second chances for pennies.

i’d brush my fingertips over lips to hush destruction and hand out re-purposed gags as bandages stitched together with bone dust of the long lost enemies of life.

i’d breath love into the lungs of the sadists parading about as saviors and poison the earth with regrowth and health.

 

expose truth and lies the same – break the world’s rib cage open and expose that soft, squishy, vulnerable heart beating in the dark, begging for help.

pull the sky down and sing it a lullaby. dust rain down the saddest souls, sweeping all the decay and dead skin cells out of the way. there’s no other way to prepare one for joy, not even for a magic peddler.

i’d bottle your tears and water my garden as payment. as the loveliest flowers grew, i’d place a vase on your pillow and help you pray with your heart, connecting to everything growing and thriving about you until breathing came easy.

 

gather many together and break open their chests, sit everything that hurt in the middle and sob together. i’d whisper magic words as you slept. help you come to, pick it all back up and put yourself back together. help you stand with rose petal splints and laughter.

maybe i’d learn to heal me too

 

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Stream of Consciousness

Rain to Tears

Something a man said today.

A little story, if you will.

 

He was driving toward a meeting I attend and noticed that the rain water looked ready to spill over.

Immediately, an immense sadness filled him.

The rain turned to tears in his mind.

This rain, it must spill and soak the earth to bring new change, to grow something wonderful.

Our tears must fall.

We use them to water our lives, to spill this pain, so something magnificent can grow from it.

 

We cannot grow until we allow ourselves to feel the pain, the sadness, we sometimes feel.

It can change into something poignant, and from there, beauty.

 

  • December 10, 2016

 

 

Every life is a collection of stories.

This story feels like it became mine, even as it was his.

We absorb and collaborate, with only the mere telling or hearing of a story. We bind them to our souls and feed them for others to hear, to learn from, to become.

 

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Stream of Consciousness

After Thoughts

How often do we accept going through a challenge simply for challenge’s sake?

How often do we bite off more than we can chew, thinking that if we settle for a lesser challenge, a lesser trial (you know, something we can actually handle and grow from), that we’re simply too weak a person?

It’s true, most nothing worth it is ever easy. But that doesn’t mean EVERYTHING we do, experience, learn, or desire in life must be so trying of a challenge that we turn ourselves inside out to attain them.

I think it boils down to – why are you doing this? What will it achieve? What will you gain? Will you bring harm to yourself or another? Are you doing this because you want to, or because you’re afraid of what others will think of you if you don’t? What are your motivations?

 

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