The Thrill

there are the dare devils
climbing cliff faces
walking tightropes
wrestling alligators
jumping from airplanes

I have no desire
to throw my body from great heights
no need to face mortality
through risking life and limb

but in the realms of the heart
that dangerous
vast space
of vibrantly pumping chambers
I dip more than a toe
in the rich life force waters

I keep diving in
to try

in early exploration days
I’d just part my chest like curtains
show every vulnerability
of my beating heart window
a few select men
I’d let them
reach in to hold it in their palms
just coursing with raw
and risking love

like some thrill seeker
that wants the rush
of the triple corkscrew roller coaster
I still seek the butterflies
to metamorphose
my mind

rattle me
to take the chance
that transparency and truth
will transform me
to a freedom
only found when we
stop
protecting

at the center
of gut and head
these hearts are delicate
though love’s resilient

through bruised
battered
broken
numb
eventually
I’m back to scaling
the dazzling
death-defying
(please give me little deaths)
terrain
of the heart

what is it
that compels me
to dare to be so scared
to face all fears
and feel?

these odysseys
may end
with greater vistas
but there’s no promise
it will be shared

maybe part of the thrill
is knowing
full well
where I may find myself

clinging to some slippery slope
heart pounding
head surrounded
in brightly colored butterflies
morphing

vision vast and new
I may well
be
alone
in this quest
breathless
but oh
so very much
alive

courtesy of apliniste

Free Dive

courtesy of jayhem

I’m free diving
letting bubbled liquid
fill my ears
to heavy quiet
but for the tinkling
of sand
sifting
my body
moving
with the rocking sway
of currents

I float
through thick space
maneuvering in the blue
streaming sunlight
that casts holographic hallways
azure passageways
through which
I slowly swim

in the water world
there is weighted silence
and dazzling sights
prisms of light

courtesy of gnews

If I were to open my mouth
to tell you
I would be drinking a salty soup

in this bluish realm
I can only
slowly
make a gesture
toward the essence
of this calm

later will be the surfacing
a gasp for breath
teeth exposed to air in smile
rivulets of salt streaming
to an open mouth
a tongue to tell

courtesy of Shane Watson

Into the Mists

The Old Poets of China

Wherever I am, the world comes after me.
It offers me its busyness. It does not believe
that I do not want it. Now I understand
why the old poets of China went so far and high
into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.

~ Mary Oliver

courtesy of palindrome6996

In my own way, today, I drift into the mists. Anesthesia-induced, yes. Though it still counts. I’ll think of it as time travel.

And when I come back to this world, my retreat will begin. Bed and rest. I’ve put everything in order. The busy will go on without me.

If I’ve got to pull some wisdom teeth to get my modern hermitage, then so be it.