Pigeon Heart Ponderings

The stillness will say take me or leave me, without saying so.
The softness will be yours to find.
We will wake, inevitably.
We will make the creeks and coos and moans that are in concert with the first moments of returning from turning off the grand system of body- the one primary to the sun; heavy bold to cloud shy, where we come back into minds after the curious dream places we arrive. Gathered or spilled.
The stillness is there, upon wake.
The skull- hollow and reverberate. Prepared for nothing. Subject to you.
It’s walls- holding no residue of experience, brain proximity unconsidered.
The brain. The master tenant.
The eye opener to look.
The thought provoker to begin consideration.
Or heavy chatter.
Or worry.
Or cacophony that slips from our grips and pushes us down dried-grass-barbed-slopes of new ideas, repetitive thoughts, or at worst- debilitating dark-cornered-unlovely-menaced fears.
I’ve always maintained “It’s the curse of the artist” to be so embedded in my own head; my own roller coaster emotion- trigger happy switch to take off.
Swapped for creative head- where use of traded goods is essential for self preservation and soul satiation.
In spite of knowing.
That outside my very self- exists all the peace and calm that anyone wants access to, as long as I stay in said stillness. That is there for the there-ness and no agenda to speak of.
And these soft moment-matters, they velvet path our way in elongated instants, where we find ourselves at fluctuating, anytime times.
And perhaps we tap our third eye 3 times with our index finger, to remember, here here here. This this this. Now now now. To stay soft in the still for one more moment.