a community of cutting chords

"perhaps it will just take a while for the differences to be understood and for western-educated people to begin to feel comfortable working in the un-boundaried realm, where tears and hugs, not money and hours worked, are the true currency," (xviii, rupert ross)

life continues to present something so soft .. this vulnerability and tenderness of being that was once a cry for life and is now a cause for celebration ..

timelines return us to experience, so that in honoring the grounds paved we walk now on it and into a forward thinking that includes the generations after us that we will touch in some small way and perhaps never know,

so from this, i return to four years ago, it was yesterday, it happened today, and it is in the webs of woven tomorrows .. dying & coming back, and the morning after

it wasn't the plunge into death that doomed me into an abysmal depth, it was rather the return from it, the lens of life from the other side and then coming back, wondering why we choose to live when we walk about aimless and without value, perpetuating a system that does not speak to the silence of our being, or the aliveness of a planet asking questions that we never want to answer

there is something familiar in that feeling, the softness there that still exists here, and yet it has dropped certain dynamics, the dynamic of despair and the concluded views of an inherent wrongness in either the world or in myself and sometimes both,

now, it is always a call to question: what am i doing here and am i doing it?

this does not always come to definition in the realm of words, in the mind's magnetism or the hands that hold and then drift apart

it's something subtle, a return to it, and its many ways of showing up, on either ends of the judgment scale that waver from one world's right and wrong to a being's possibility of everything ..

it's being soft, being kind, to these bodies we are in, to those in our life, whether that is in doing the hard thing, in saying the thing that sparks us and yet brings some things to flame, in being silent, still, saying no and staying home, a glass of wine and sparked conversations with self where we sway to music that only we hear, with tears and hugs of currency where crying does not only symbolize sadness but rather walls breaking down that were once built so strong

there are a lot of things in this world that don't inherently make sense to me. like money doesn't make sense .. doing something for money, because it doesn't have a soul-identified value other than the awareness that it is something this reality requires and utilizes, and relationship is perhaps not out of a need to experience an eternal life in a body alongside another, in a commitment tried on and tried through but maybe that it's because of joy and exploration, a choice and an experiment, that two bodies should communicate in ways that inspire the collaboration of a collective,

there is a beauty in collaboration, the collaborative softness, a community that doesn't merely cut chords or drag behind bags of weighted meanings behind them, but perhaps finds the rebirth in the aliveness of something that has ended and yet never dies, and the steps that take us into an unknown and sometimes alone, and the edge of being uncomfortable on a creative frontier

we are abstractions, we see something big and we don't always know how to get there, or where to start, or that it has any value in the realm of logic and a work/money driven world, and yet we continue, we courageously work with and stop fighting against, and we find that in being, we arrive and .. there is never anywhere to go, and yet all the universe to gain

copyright 2018 ⓒ / forrest gallagher