Remembering an act of kindness
I don’t know why
Was it your acts of kindness?
You may not even see it as thus?
Some just radiate joy…
This quiet morn thoughts of you disrupted my consciousness,
Bringing unto me a certain calm.
Feeling kindness and tranquility
Dreaming of nirvanas of the mind, be it my imaginings.
The memory of you and presence recalled brought unto me a certain euphoria.
Trying to understand,
seeking not too lose the moment,
Drifting on elysian plains.
Quenched!: A thirst for the beautiful that is seldom realised.
In dark somber rooms I could hear the dry shimmering glacial sound of sticks glancing on cymbals.
Walking through temples of worship,
the light reflected off gold leaf disrupts.
I imagined you within
sitting in the spotlight in the dark.
You are maybe the opposite, for I know you sometimes like to drown in the ambient sounds: be it quiet or loud.
I am painting a picture through music.
Why am I trying to composite an image of you?
It maybe as I say divorced from the truth, whatever that is, this reality: a construct that is all mine: The Holy Terror of the ‘Les Enfants Terribles’.
Thinking of time adrift, a lone planet sailing through the cosmos without a sun,
thermals rising over rambling English hills.
What is this quiet beauty that distils my mind?
Disrupts my prevailing narrative and transposes me to a place where angels walk through cloisters in silence.
In an instance: To feel and taste life…
To live outside the din: the rupture that corrupts.
Wishing to get lost,
to stay in a place outside the prisons of reason.
Here within these words, I am aware that I maybe committing an act treason.
Thoughts: only this exists in all its purity, brings clarity to my mind.
I have only interacted with you briefly, caught you in the midst of the creative process.
You, however, cast an impression on my subconscious, from fear it laid hidden preferring to cower in the shadows. How can one tell another man that one felt beauty emanating from them?
At this moment I can only expound my emotions as thus:
Colours: Deep dark emerald green embedded with circular pools of vivid orange, as lipid pools on crushed velvet.
Touch: The softness of damp moss,
Senses of being: streams flowing.
Scent: dry velvet perfume! Husk blowing from corn fields on hot dry autumnal days…
Seeing, lichens hanging from smothered branches in tropical or temperate forests.
Feeling the dampness and airs’ perspirations dripping on my head.
Staring at the glycerin cola stained spring water flowing across the rocks, I guessed it rained here last night, the nutrients prized from the soil.
The strands of lucent green reeds, bow, following the contours of the rocks, let it be, be I the observer and creator?
Forgive me, I seek not to offend, I am maybe over extending myself.
I laid listening to the music and began this journey that lead me to this place.
Now: thinking of Ireland, staring into your green emerald eyes, though, I have never been to this place.
Allow me the freedom to breath, to think, to believe.
Freedom of expression outside the confines of values and beliefs.
To feel without lust or desire, open to feelings, experiences, know not how you will interpret or respond to these words.
I seek not to offend, or transgress personal boundaries, I hope you are of open mind to allow me to express the feelings I seek to capture in these words, a synchronic cut through my life. I could say I seek nothing, but nay it is just to share these words with you.