An urge to share a quick sketch of where I have been in the past few weeks.
On the road. On my road, on our road, intertwined with I and I.
Nights being gently nudged awake in the frost bitten air, two fingers poised for a pinch. “Are you still alive? Your tidal volume was low…” Sleep is a stasis of such stature that it is frought with death. Waking with tears in the eyes to intensified dreams where my veins are punctured and redirected, where I am the coyote who is cleaning and tanning my own hide. Nights by the fire reciting “Invictus” with absolutely new and weighty significance. Nights by the fire with my guitar on lap exploring old chords in new ways to my novice fingers.
The sun kisses. The sun radiates a rapture of comforts right above my sternum as the wind blows through the desert plains. When I was at the end of panic attacks, at the end of folding into myself there was one human who I encountered who would just place their hand above my heart and I would become like a river incorporating that nurturing stream of dignity into my own. That was in the mist lands, where the sun would not filter through and warm my waters in a way sustaining of life.
But here I am.
On the road.