The Ink Rest
A season takes time.
Spring hugs time.
Thanks for your hug.
Glad for your sunshine.
Very soon I get to meet you.
I’m still, working
and stretching mine.
How glad I am for sunshine,
the privilege of flowy ease,
the taste of balance and warmth,
the day I overtly touch the space that makes me
flesh gap between my internal
and external freedom,
and present my new high.
A big part of me is hibernating still, but not rested,
a bit lost and maxed out at times in an unexpected cave,
an unexpected experience,
some uncomfortable lingering, on a stream,
sometimes in mud, thick, oozy,
unsettling or dull,
and it can get loud, yet it trickles.
The cave is not always cozy and there’s a split in the emptiness
between me and the earth and my electricity
and the taste of outside light,
not feeling flower rooting sure just yet,
hoping for green shoots, that kind sprouting,
something i know i can give it,
trying to find that great tree inside of me,
wonderful, filled, and full.
Experiences are said to shape you. I’m looking for my grounding.
I’ve been in a truly strange space of physical and emotional adjustment the last big few— .
Lots of impactful stuff going on.
Something to make a soul journey understand growth.
It’s had some pain. Some great moments with plenty
of what I guess then becomes a spiritual fracturing.
So many punctuation marks.
Trying to figure out I’m intact.
Got some more climbing to do,
tracing for honey.
Oh strange experience.
Oh, growth. Oh bless you, Life.
Sorry for my poetry of stuff.
My January, February, March —
A season can have rest,
and still be at times an insufferably strange.
But one day again we all come to recognize and merge
experience to what then is “your possible”.
So yes, my ink is not feeling ink just yet,—
Trying to define my pen, dry off
the energy of a submersion,
find my page, my next sure write.
Photography by Marina Mashaal