"'Lay down. Don't resist the world dissipating, sending its last farewells in muted glimmers of light. Your agency lies in the inevitable. There is vitality in a medicine predating your origin, and the time has arrived for you to be led to yourself.
'Lay down."
The color green never meant anything to me. Simply, it was a color I classified as "cool," but I never knew a single color could induce comforting heat. Striating shades jostle my innards, turning me into a haze. My anatomy is nothing but a container for a palette of color that once bore my apathy.
The vibrant fusion is almost electronic. Neon shades zoom the course of mind, only warm enough to slightly numb the frigid grit of dirt surrounding me. Tree roots interlace, weaving a coffin across my body. It's a rugged swaddle until a blanket of emerald softens every present sense of discomfort. Texture is lost, my surroundings are suspended in an intangible space. Sound is palpable; an oncoming symphonic unison rushing towards me, a minuscule anxious palpitation.
It doesn't matter how many memories you have when they all deduce into a single moment.
I'm no stranger to turbulence. Stillness is a newfound acquaintance, adamant about pivotal rendezvous's— resting in solid space, yet silky, concise, and undefined—is it appropriate to wonder who will miss you when the moment becomes obsolete? When I am no longer the same person I once was after this moment, do I grieve my lesser form alone? Thoughts will only sustain the eerie beat, the crooked jig of my heart I've become.
Cylindrical, light beams mend the darkness with hyacinth rays until I sync with a verdant unison. It's unspoken and tender with a consistency that sinks me into buoyancy. Humming ebbs are the undercurrent, sustaining my transformative stagnancy. There is no difference. My breath makes me liquid and viscous; i'm ooze, paving a spiraling trail for a location of somewhere and nowhere simultaneously.
It doesn't matter how many memories you have when they all deduce into a single moment.
Sound? An arena.
Articulated as one, whispers frolic with a freedom most will never know. Sing.
Barefeet rejoice across tombstones, unseen to the naked eye. There is cause for celebration.
I know I'm not the only one woven in this dirt. It's in the green. It's passed between every concealed tendril, merging me with a unified symphony. I'm not the only one succumbing to the mystery of a larger heart.
YOU ARE READING
Lotus Diaries
SpiritualThe Lotus Diaries is a series of journals written with the intention to contemplate one's journey of embodying their fullest potential.
