uplift me

Recent events have left me, at times, feeling like an indescribable weight has pounded my spine down to nothing but bone to bone. No space. Rigidity and heaviness loomed in the months that passed. 
I started searching for ways to remedy this state I was beginning to worry was permanent. What I found along the way was that no state is fixed, if you allow yourself to explore the varied nature of your experience. I had pushed so hard against the pain, that I had allowed it to build up, becoming an all encompassing force in my life. 
I began writing everyday. 
I found a theme throughout my growing collection of writings-- they were more often than not reflection on lyrics that resonated with me or pictures/descriptions of live music experiences that had left me feeling something. I noticed that when I became most at ease was when I was writing about my experiences and connections to music. 
This is not unique, I am fully aware. But because I loathed the idea of a diary I had never had a place that held my writings neatly together. I was beginning to notice how all encompassing music had become in my life. 
Something as simple as a black bound notebook brought to light what I needed. 
The lyrics of Zach Rogue come to mind, "The music that I want, is cheaper than therapy" 
I have been to many shows in the past year, all have left me with a high untouchable by any substance. 
The last show I attended was particularly inspiring. I left unable to stop contemplating UP. The catchy opening song of the GIVERS rang through my head non stop over the next few days. Uplift. That was the perfect word to describe the sensation I feel while being in the presence of keys, strings, melodies, and particularly mesmerising percussion--it was as though my vertebrae had been infused with milky way goodness that expanded to allow for all the space their little bones hearts could ever desire. 

vibrancy

you were bright, but brief
  singing me to sleep with your lyrical, ignorant 
                                                 bliss.

mud

palms grip moss. 
I balance atop a jagged rock. my feet slosh through the mud making a sound that I make note to remember because it puts a strangely euphoric smile on my face, like its promising to leave its muddy residue all day long.


Its mucky, but I like it. Its a residue that says, "I have been some place beautiful." 


I take a seat on the bench that holds many memories. Not in a sentimental mood, I focus on anything but those memories. I stare at the dry branches of the trees overlooking the city. These branches resemble disfigured arms- they are strangely beautiful to me. They make me think of the dozens of aspects of our being, some are not pretty, some are smooth and inviting, some are strong and welcome support, some snap off when they are no longer useful- if we let them. But nonetheless these aspects are rooted, over years and years, not going anywhere-- unless you let someone cut them down


but that choice is yours.