Waking Up to the Sound of Beauty (In Your Silence)


How comfortable are you with
your discomfort? Capable of
parenting it, prepared to care
for the fear since it only wants
to be acknowledged, grief itself
comforted like a stray dog would
wandering wounded into your
crippling thoughts, melting away like
tears of wax passing back into
the room you’re in when he departs,
with which you become one, at peace
with your Self against whom you have
been warring so long? Tell me now,
can you handle knowing you’ve been
wrong all along, that how you dealt
with trouble life dealt you was not
worth the struggle at all? Fighting
off at greater cost to your own
survival than a virus what
walks the soul out of its body’s
prison sentence into a kind
of transcendence no physical
threat can make any less special,
spiritual, or meaningful.


Dusk inhales itself, clouds coughing
on us their aspersions cast like
lots preventing us from getting
what we want. Intelligence of
emotion (accepting it as
wisdom without fighting against
what its pain posits, that we
might, indeed, be broken) is worth
persistence since enlightenment
won’t grow on one like mould but, like
love, requires only the effort
of awareness and just letting
it happen. Understanding is
accepting darkness until it
passes, acknowledging tension
takes from transgression what makes of
what’s been happening an open
path guiding like an open hand
discontent forward toward its
passage. Waking up to the sound
of beauty in your silence seems
the best analogy release
has other than mere “catharsis”.