I am a sieve

Burdened with many holes.
Millions of breakage strewn throughout my body showing unguarded ways into my soul.
Burdened with many holes, I am a sieve.

Holding water doesn't stay, falling right through when I need it most.
Round and hollow, waiting for dimension to unfold, I shape and form as time seeps through.

What I am given that most becomes the moment, just falls through.
What is least usable sticks to the edges of my holes and takes shape, forming smaller holes until I no longer have space to see.  So now sunlight cannot shine through but in tiny beads that barely break the surface, letting water sit by itself until it is sour.

Everything is affected as a result of this.  Like unclear pieces of an image, specks of noise and thoughts filter through in some angry blur with no tail end, no finishing story.  Chaos fills up around me and I search for still because I have no way of keeping everything out.
I end up searching my bowl for the end, trying to create the rest of the story myself, all in my mind's eye, from scratch and bits floating haphazardly through my holes.  But it's not possible because it is all in pieces that do not connect.

It would be nice to be a different shape, another tool with better edges, but alas I am a sieve.
I seek something clean.  Something not broken into pieces but whole and smooth.
Open-ended and soft.  Something that makes sense all the way from start to finish without my mind interfering.

©11/26/11DanyaMosgofian

I move slow.

For so long now I've moved at a rabbit's pace.  Buzzing and hopping from moment to moment where thoughts ascended like fire up a chute, into sky, burning the woods around and inside me.
But these bunny bones have grown tired as the pace of life thickens and the threads of my soul wear thin.

Something has shifted.  Something brewing deep down for awhile now, is asking for space.
An urge has been crawling upwards and is crying out for attention.
Slow.
I am finally slowing down as the world speeds to a pace it cannot keep up with. And we are now juxtaposed.
Like a turtle I want to ooze over things, caressing the ground underneath me.
Ignoring the end of things, knowing I will get there in good time.
Not to worry or fret over how but just go there slowly, and feel every trace of it.

My body craves a slowing of time, an enveloping of itself into warmth and lust, the complete immersion into moment.
A safe and embodied trust that will develop because I see there is time to build it and if I don't know the way, I will be shown with patience.

Slow conversations that crackle the air with pregnant pauses.
With time to listen to deeper meaning and no fear for what is not said.
Or what needs to be said.  For there is time.

Slow love that seeps into me before my brain can find walls to build.
Hands moving slowly.  Heart opening slowly.  Eyes soft.
Love spreads around me, gently.

The chaos of life is not beyond my witness, for I see how flurried we have become and what I crave most of all, is something that will turn the world on it's end and head the other direction.

Oh how I have grown backwards in time.

©11/14/11DanyaMosgofian