My grandmother...
Taught me what the truest form of love is.
Simply by being me invested in her.
And through this she prayed day and night.
The most devoted catholic parishioner
I will ever know.
I have dedicated my life to knowing
That there is no reason needed.
No reason needed -
To make sense in knowing why she
Possessed the qualities of such peasantry.
She was a gift.
And in all the intentions I may have ever had in my life....
It is meant to be good as hers.
Sometimes I forget.
Forgetting is what we all do.
When trying to impress upon our stirring inhibitions.
If I were to make believe in myself it would consist of these things:
That I am a good person.
That ignoring me makes you less than a friend that does.
That I need to start loving life that I lead.
Would you attempt to kill a fly if it meant it were your only company.
Swatting at it.
Another swat.... and missed.
Again you swat.
That is what life looks like when you forget. You aim to hit the fly and miss it.
You swing to kill it.
But you never really know how.
A fly doesn't consist of a heart.
It only has energy.
The energy to escape.
To make you miss the target.
And that is the secret to all great tragedies.
To serve your truth.
That the truth is your companion
To attain God's wisdom.
And to obtain the skull to honor it.
I always thought of this in terms of my hair.
That I felt an irrational need to grow it out...
And having grown it - the need was not irrational.
The urge is real.
And any real sense of unearthing your true
self worth is an eternal sense of favoring
everything you are.
There is no why.
There is no how.
Only beauty in the myth you created.
The myth that is you.
No matter which way you carve it out, you cannot afford the same air you breath
without first betraying your own truth.
Much like missing teeth.
You believe in tooth fairies coming
for the teeth you hid beneath your pillow.
Was it all for the fun of it.
Or was it not because a myth lives up to lie about some fairy doing its job.
Everything computes anew.
It just never quite stops.
Nor does the madness quiet.
Between your prayers and compiling a collection of rocks. There are plenty to choose from.
Only myths become something worth your eternal self.
The myth that you became something as supernatural as in comic book heroes.
Just use your inner voice.
To sing why or to choose how.
The causes may seem endless.
But they are not!
If you are not out there in the real world...
Why not tell them it is god that sent you?
They would look at you like you're mad.
And would that not be an accomplishment worth sharing.
Although you can't but want too.
